“My husband texted from vegas: ‘just married my coworker. You’re pathetic BTW.’ I replied: ‘cool.’ Then I blocked his cards and changed the house locks. Next morning, police were at my door…”

Instead of opening the front door and letting them act as though they had any business on my porch, I used the wall control to open the garage.

The door rumbled upward. Sunlight streamed in around the stacked boxes lined neatly against the far wall. Ethan stopped short when he saw them.

“Wow,” he said. “Efficient. Didn’t even wait for me to get back.”

“You didn’t come back,” I said. “You got married.”

Rebecca looked at the floor.

Margaret pushed forward at once. “This is outrageous, Clara. A wife doesn’t throw her husband’s things into the garage like garbage.”

“I’m not his wife anymore,” I said. “And nothing here is garbage. It’s every last thing he owns. Packed carefully. You’re welcome.”

Lily barked out a laugh, sharp as broken glass. “You’re a control freak, Clara. Always have been. You’re just mad Ethan finally found someone who makes him happy.”

Even Rebecca flinched at the word happy, which told me all I needed to know about how blissful the Vegas honeymoon bubble really was.