“I accept.”

He frowned.

“Accept what?”

“The divorce.”

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Eric gave a short laugh.

“Okay. Very funny.”

“I already spoke to an attorney.”

The laugh disappeared.

“You called a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?”

“From your mother’s apartment.”

Linda waved her hand.

“Nobody is getting divorced over a chair.”

I looked at the red velvet chair.

“This isn’t about the chair.”

Eric stepped closer.

“Megan, stop.”

“No.”

It was the shortest answer I had given him in months.

And apparently the one he understood best.

Then Linda Said Too Much

I told Linda she needed to return to her apartment.

She stared at me.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because someone is moving in.”

“Then cancel the lease.”

Her face tightened.

“I can’t just cancel it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll lose money.”

Eric turned toward her.

“What money?”

Linda froze.

I watched them.

That was the first moment all evening when Eric looked genuinely confused.

“Mom. What money?”

“Nothing.”

“You said there was a deposit.”

Linda glared at him.

“You have it.”

The room went quiet.

Eric’s mouth opened.

Brian looked at me.

I said nothing.

Linda pointed at her son.

“Don’t stand there pretending you don’t know. The tenant paid the deposit. You told me you needed it temporarily.”

Eric’s face drained.

“Mom.”

“What?”

“Stop talking.”

That was enough.

I looked at him.

“Where is the deposit?”

“It’s handled.”

“Where is it?”

He rubbed both hands over his face.

“Megan, it’s complicated.”

“How much?”

Linda answered.

“Three thousand.”

Eric snapped toward her.

“Mom!”

“You said you’d replace it!”

I stared at him.

“Replace it from what?”

He didn’t answer.

“Eric.”

He sat down at the kitchen island.

For once, nobody defended him.

Finally he said:

“I had some credit-card balances.”

“How much?”

“A few thousand.”

“How many thousands?”

Silence.

Linda looked furious now, but not because he had taken the money.

Because I knew.

“He was going to put it back when the rent started coming in,” she said.

I looked at her.

“With whose money?”

She didn’t answer.

Eric did.

Quietly.

“I would have figured something out.”

That sentence told me more than any bank statement could.

He had no plan.

He had my income.

My credit.

My home.

And eventually, his mother’s rental income.

He had been moving money around and calling it a future.

I closed the folder.

“You need to pack.”

Eric looked up.

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

I glanced at Linda.

Neither of them appreciated that.

The Chair Went Out Last

Eric’s attitude changed within fifteen minutes.

He followed me into the hallway.

“I can get a job.”

I kept walking.

“I mean a real job. Full-time.”

I opened the bedroom door.

Linda’s suitcase sat beside my dresser.

“Megan, listen to me.”

I picked up the suitcase and carried it into the hall.

“I am listening.”

“I’ll pay everything back.”

“Okay.”

He seemed encouraged.

“And we can do counseling.”

“No.”

He stopped.

“You just said okay.”

“You should pay it back. That doesn’t mean I’m staying married to you.”

He stared at me.

“You’re really ending our marriage over money?”

I looked toward the stairs.

“You threatened to end it because I wouldn’t clean your mother’s apartment.”

He didn’t answer.

Downstairs, Linda was arguing with Brian about the chair.

“That chair is coming with me.”

Brian looked at me.

I almost smiled.

“Please take it.”

Linda gripped the back of it.

“It belonged to my mother.”

“Then it should stay with your family.”

Marcus arranged for Linda’s spare building access to be deactivated.

Eric packed two suitcases.

He kept trying to talk.

Promises.

Explanations.

Plans.

I had heard plans from Eric for most of our marriage.

That night, I stopped financing them.

I did not pay his credit-card debt.

I did not replace the tenant’s deposit.

I did not pay whatever Linda lost because she had promised her apartment to someone else.

Those were problems created without me.

They could be solved without me.

Brian helped Eric carry his bags downstairs.

Linda refused to leave until the chair came too.

The two of them struggled with it through the doorway, Eric pulling from the hallway while Linda pushed from behind.

One wooden leg caught briefly on the threshold.

For three weeks, that dusty red chair had looked enormous in my living room.

Once it was halfway through the doorway, it looked surprisingly small.

Linda pushed again.

The chair disappeared into the hall.

I closed the door behind it.