Yet I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked into the study, shutting the door behind me with a heavy thud.
Inside, I lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
Outside the window, the night was still and dark. Every so often, headlights from passing cars cut through the silence.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang.
Then I heard Tracy rush to open the door, followed by Harry’s soft voice.
“Tracy, are you okay?”
Despite that, I didn’t get up. I just sat there, alone in the study, until I heard the front door close again.
The house instantly fell silent, completely still except for the steady ticking of the clock.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. Tracy messaged me.
[You pushed me to this, Louie.]
[Now, we’re done!]
Having read that, I didn’t respond. I tossed the phone aside, picked up my pen, and added a few more lines about the division of assets to the divorce agreement.
If we were ending it, then let’s end it properly.
When I finished, I sat back and stared out the window, memories flooding in.
It had been seven years since that summer night when I first met Tracy at a friend’s party.
She was sitting quietly in the corner, listening to music, completely out of place in the noisy crowd.