Everything that belonged to me was coming with me.
By noon, I had signed a lease on a smaller one-bedroom apartment fifteen minutes from my office.
It had huge windows.
A balcony.
And, for the first time in years, a room that didn’t contain a single tripod.
Natalie arrived at one carrying cardboard boxes.
She took one look at me.
“You’re actually doing it.”
“I am.”
“You sure?”
I looked around the apartment.
“For the first time in a decade.”
She nodded.
“Then tell me where to start.”
We packed for five hours.
I took my books.
My dishes.
My photographs.
My grandmother’s lamp.
My desk.
My clothes.
My coffee machine.
The framed print Marcus hated but tolerated because my father gave it to me before he died.
His equipment stayed untouched.
His clothes stayed in the closet.
His computer remained exactly where it was.
I wasn’t destroying his life.
I was simply removing mine from underneath it.
At four-thirty, the catering company called.
“Ms. Walker? We’re confirming delivery for your dinner tonight.”
I nearly canceled.
Then I remembered the deposit was nonrefundable.
“Bring it.”
Natalie stared at me after I hung up.
“You’re still serving dinner?”
“I paid $286 for it.”
She laughed for the first time all day.
“Fair enough.”
At six, the food arrived.
We put everything on the dining table.
Brisket.
Mac and cheese.
Cornbread.
Roasted vegetables.
The ridiculous little cake with the camera drawn on top.
I stared at the words underneath it.
YOUR BIG BREAK.
Natalie looked uncomfortable.
“What do you want to do with that?”
I picked up a knife.
“Eat it.”
She burst out laughing.
So did I.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe it was grief.
But for thirty seconds, we stood in the kitchen laughing until tears ran down our faces.
Then there was a knock.
Mr. Hernandez, the property manager, stood outside holding paperwork.
“I brought the acknowledgment copy you requested.”
“Perfect.”
He stepped inside while I signed the final document.
That was when Marcus came home.
I heard his key first.
Then his voice.
“Claire? Something smells amazing.”
The door swung open.
Marcus walked inside carrying a camera bag.
He was smiling.
“I knew you were up to—”
He stopped.
His eyes moved from Natalie…
to Mr. Hernandez…
to the boxes lining the wall.
Then to the paperwork on the table.
The smile disappeared.
“What’s going on?”
I folded my copy of the document.
“Dinner.”
Marcus looked around again.
“What are all these boxes?”
“My things.”
“What?”
“My things, Marcus.”
His eyes snapped toward Mr. Hernandez.
“Why is he here?”
Mr. Hernandez shifted politely.
“I was delivering documentation.”
“What documentation?”
I answered.
“My notice.”
Marcus stared at me.
“What notice?”
“I’m leaving the apartment when the lease ends.”
He laughed once, as if I had made a terrible joke.
“Okay. Very funny.”
Nobody laughed.
His expression changed.
“Claire?”
“I’m serious.”
“You can’t just terminate our lease.”
“Our lease?”
His eyes narrowed.
I placed the original agreement on the table.
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