Chapter 3

The next morning, I drove to the house. Not to reconcile, but to retrieve. The divorce papers my lawyer had couriered over were in my briefcase, sitting on the passenger seat. They felt heavier than a stack of books.

The house was quiet when I let myself in. Sarah was probably at the office, trying to put out the fires I had started. I walked straight to my home office, a room that had once been my sanctuary.

I started packing, methodically and without emotion. My personal books, my old prototypes, the framed photo of my college robotics team. I boxed them up neatly, taping each one shut with a sense of finality.

As I was taking down a whiteboard covered in my own unique shorthand of equations, I heard the front door open.

"I can' t believe he just walked out!" It was Sarah' s voice, sharp and angry.

"He' s being a baby," Mark' s voice replied, sycophantic as always. "He' ll come crawling back once he realizes he has nothing without you."

They were in the foyer, their voices carrying clearly up the stairs. I froze, my hand hovering over the whiteboard.

"He wiped the dev servers, Mark! The documentation is gone. We' re flying blind. The tech team is in a panic."

"Don' t worry, Sarah," Mark said soothingly. "I' ll handle it. I' ll reverse-engineer his code. It might take a little time, a little overtime, but I can do it. I' m better than he is, anyway."

I had to stop myself from laughing out loud. Mark couldn' t reverse-engineer a toaster. He was all talk and no talent.

"I hope so," Sarah sighed. "The investors are calling. Apparently, the lead VC wants an emergency board meeting tomorrow. They' re spooked."

I continued packing, moving faster now. I didn' t want to be here when they came upstairs.

Just as I was sealing the last box, I heard them at my office door. It was closed, but not locked.

"Is he in there?" Sarah whispered.

"His car is in the driveway," Mark whispered back.

There was a long pause. I stood perfectly still, my heart pounding.

Then, Sarah' s voice, loud and clear. "Alex? I know you' re in there. We can hear you."

I didn' t answer. I picked up a box and carried it towards the bedroom, where I' d stack them to take out through the garage.

"Fine! Sulk if you want to!" she yelled through the door. "But you' re not getting away with this! I am still your wife!"

Her footsteps receded, followed by Mark' s. I heard them go downstairs into the kitchen. The smell of coffee began to drift up.

I finished clearing my office, leaving it bare and impersonal. Then I went to our bedroom to pack my clothes. Her side of the closet was a riot of designer labels and sharp business suits. My side was simple, practical. It took me less than ten minutes to pack a suitcase.

As I was leaving the room, something on her nightstand caught my eye. It was a sleek, expensive-looking gift box from a high-end electronics store. Curious, I lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in satin, was the latest, top-of-the-line tablet. The kind a company gives to its star executive. There was a small card. I picked it up.

"To Mark," it read, in Sarah' s elegant script. "For a new era of innovation. Welcome to the top."

My stomach tightened. She had bought my replacement a gift. A reward for his betrayal.

I looked over at my own nightstand. The watch I wore every day, a gift from my late father, was sitting there. Next to it was an old photo of Sarah and me, from our honeymoon. We looked happy. Young and naive.

I picked up the watch and put it on. I left the photo where it was.

Downstairs, I could hear them talking in the living room.

"This will look great for the presentation," Mark was saying. "So much sleeker than the old one Alex was using."

I walked into the room. They both stopped talking and stared at me. Mark was holding the new tablet. Sarah had a file in her hands. My file.

She had laid out my favorite coffee mug, the one from my old university, and filled it with coffee. She was using it now, handing it to Mark.

"Here," she said to him, ignoring me. "You look like you need it."

Mark took the mug, my mug, and took a long, slow sip, his eyes locked on mine over the rim. It was a deliberate act of dominance, of appropriation.

I felt nothing. The anger had burned itself out, leaving behind a cold, clear calm.

I walked over to the coffee table and placed the divorce papers on it, right next to a crystal globe we had bought on our first anniversary.

"What is this?" Sarah asked, her eyes narrowing at the legal document.

"It' s a divorce petition," I said simply. "My lawyer sent it over. You' ll be served officially tomorrow."

She stared at the papers, then back at me, her face a mask of disbelief.

"A divorce? You' re divorcing me? Over a job?"

"It was never about the job, Sarah," I said. "And you know it."

I turned to leave. Mark, ever the opportunist, piped up.

"He' s just trying to scare you, Sarah. He' s bluffing."

Sarah picked up the papers, her hands trembling slightly. She read the first page, and her face went pale.

"It' s real," she whispered. She looked up at me, a flicker of something-fear? panic?-in her eyes. "Alex, wait. Let' s not be hasty. We can work this out."

"There' s nothing to work out," I said, my hand on the doorknob.

She signed the acknowledgment of service with a shaking hand, her pen tearing the paper slightly. She thought that was the end of it, a simple signature.

"You' ll regret this," she said, her voice low and venomous. "You' ll come back, and I won' t be here for you."

"I' m counting on it," I replied, and walked out the door without looking back.