The next morning, I woke up and started packing my luggage. I was halfway through when Ivy came home looking exhausted.
Following her through the door was a strong scent of men's cologne that caught me off guard.
Ivy hated the smell of cologne. Every time I used it, she would scold me. So I hadn't used any cologne for a long time. Looking back now, she didn't hate cologne—she just didn't like me using it.
Seeing me packing, she paused. "Owen sobered up too late last night. I got a hotel room by myself. That's why I didn't come home."
I looked up at her, somewhat surprised. This was the first time in three years of marriage that she'd voluntarily explained herself to me.
I nodded without speaking. She then slowly walked up to me and asked, looking down, "Are you packing because you have a work flight?"
I nodded. "Something like that."
After hearing this, she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief for some reason, then continued, "I have something to do today. I'm just here to grab something, and then I'll leave. I won't be here for lunch."
"Okay."
I didn't look up, continuing to pack my luggage. I'd originally planned to tell her about my resignation over lunch, to officially end our eight-year relationship, but it seemed there wouldn't be a chance now.
With that, Ivy grabbed a red paper bag and the clothes hanging by the door and hurried out. After she left, the photo frame that had hung on the doorframe for eight years suddenly fell to the floor.
Broken glass lay scattered in every direction.
I looked over—it was a photo from our first concert together. In the picture, our hands were clasped together, our faces full of smiles.
That day, she'd promised me that no matter how busy she got, she'd accompany me to a concert every year. But since Owen became her apprentice, she'd forgotten all about it.
The clock ticked away in the empty house.
After a long silence, I cleaned up the glass shards from the floor. Then I threw that photo, a relic of happier times, into the trash can, along with the last of my lingering feelings.
