A man's silhouette appeared in the doorway. "You're taking all of that?"
My hands didn't stop. "No. I'm throwing it away."
He paused, as if he'd misheard. "Throwing it away? All of it? These are gifts I gave you. You always treasured them. You said you'd keep them forever."
I didn't look up. I kept stuffing things into the suitcase. "People get tired of old things. That's human nature. Doesn't matter if it's a person or a possession—once it's old, you don't need it anymore."
Something strange crossed his face, a flicker of displeasure he couldn't quite mask. He wasn't used to this version of me. The Cecily who used to gaze up at him adoringly, who cherished every smile, every gift—how could she possibly throw his presents away?
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
"Sir, the missus isn't feeling well. You should go check on her right away."
Dustin's expression shifted instantly to alarm. He tossed out a parting line without looking back: "Fine, throw them out. I'll buy you new ones. Finish packing and leave."
He was gone before the words finished hanging in the air. Hurried footsteps pounded up the staircase.