Instead, something heavier settled inside him—quiet, final.
A door closing.
A decision forming.
His fingers moved before he could stop them.
“Then stay busy. Don’t come home.”
He hit send.
For a moment, he just stood there, listening to the hum of the refrigerator.
Then he picked up his phone and called his brother.
“Jake.”
“What’s wrong?” Jake asked immediately.
“I need you to come over. Bring your truck. And your toolbox.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“I’m changing the locks.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Marcus… maybe you should think about this.”
“Tonight.”
His voice was calm.
Final.
Jake exhaled.
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
After the call ended, Marcus looked around the house.
Every wall they had painted together.
Every piece of furniture they had argued over and compromised on.
Every detail that once meant something.
Now it felt like a museum—carefully arranged memories of a marriage that no longer existed.
He went upstairs and pulled two suitcases from the closet.
Then he started packing.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Clothes for a week or two.
Work outfits.
Casual wear.
Toiletries.
The small, everyday things that made a life.
