I open my mouth, but he's already putting his bowl in the sink.
He heads to his room. The house goes silent.
***
The office feels unusually loud today.
Every conversation, every keyboard click, every phone ringing in the distance registers like an intrusion. I find myself snapping at an assistant over a scheduling conflict. Dismissing ideas in a meeting without properly evaluating them. Checking my phone between presentations as if something urgent might have appeared.
Nothing has.
Steven calls around noon. His tone is careful, deliberate.
"Sir," he says, "Ms. Smith came by while you were at the office. She collected some personal items."
My chest constricts. "When?"
"About an hour ago. She was brief."
I want to ask if she said anything. If she seemed upset. If she asked about me. The questions line up behind my teeth, crowding for exit.
"Thank you for the update," I say instead, and end the call.
The rest of the afternoon blurs.
I review my calendar again, looking for the correction point.
More structure should fix this. More distance.
It doesn’t.
I move through the rest of the day like a ghost, attending meetings, signing documents, making decisions.
The same systems that used to settle me now feel inert—perfectly intact and utterly ineffective.
***
Mid-morning the next day, I receive an urgent call. Europe. Immediate. Non-negotiable.
I agree without hesitation.
I send a message to Steven about getting things ready. He'll prepare everything for me and Henry while I'm gone.
Leaving feels like relief. Distance always does. Geography has solved more problems in my life than conversation.
The driver is already waiting when I step outside. My bag is packed. My schedule cleared.
As the car pulls away, the house recedes in the window. I expect the familiar sensation—the lightness, the narrowing of focus, the comfort of movement.
Instead, my chest feels heavier with every mile.
I close my eyes and imagine leaving everything behind the way I leave cities. Contracts. Boardrooms. Problems.
As my driver takes me to my private jet, I wish I could leave my feelings behind as easily as I can leave the country.
The jet waits on the tarmac, sleek and ready. The kind of machine that exists solely to make escape effortless.
As I climb the steps, I think about Lindsay's laugh. The way she filled silence instead of fearing it. The way she challenged me without trying to control me. The way she walked out without begging me to understand.
