I packed only what was mine: my books, my grandmother's dishes, my work monitor, my photos with Chelsea, the blue throw blanket, and the coffee maker.
I hesitated over that, then packed it too.
Chelsea arrived with packing tape and looked at the folders.
"These are all bills?"
I packed only what was mine.
"Copies."
She opened one. "Ari, this is his amplifier."
"I know."
"This is more than my car payment."
"I know that too."
"Are you sure?"
I sealed the box. "For the first time in nine years."
"Are you sure?"
Chelsea nodded. "Tell me what to pack."
That's why I loved Chelsea. She didn't take over. She handed me tape when I reached for it.
***
At 5:30, the food arrived.
Chelsea carried the bags in and paused by the counter. "You still ordered dinner?"
"I ordered it yesterday," I said. "I'm not wasting money twice."
"Tell me what to pack."
"What do you want to do with it?"
I looked at the table. The folders were stacked neatly now. Rent. Utilities. Groceries. Scott's phone. Equipment. Lease.
"Set it out, Chels."
Chelsea opened one bag. "Like a party?"
"Yes," I said. "A goodbye party."
I looked at the table.
She glanced at me, then nodded. "Okay."
We put the food on the counter. No decorations. No candles. Just dinner, boxes, paperwork, and the life Scott had mistaken for background noise.
At six, Mr. Clement knocked.
He held out a plain envelope. "I brought the notice form and a copy for your records."
"Thank you. Would you mind stepping in while I sign?"
Mr. Clement knocked.
"Of course."
He entered, noticed the folders and boxes, and didn't ask personal questions.
I signed my name.
Ariana.
Not Ariana-and-Scott.
Not almost-wife.
Just me.
I signed my name.
Mr. Clement was sliding the signed copy into the envelope when Scott's key turned in the lock.
His voice came through first.
"Babe, that smells incredible. Please tell me you got the spicy noodles."
The door opened.
Scott walked in smiling, guitar case in hand.
He saw Chelsea, and his smile faltered.
His voice came through first.
He saw Mr. Clement, and his smile vanished.
Then he saw the boxes against the wall and the folders on the dining table.
For one full second, he stood frozen in the doorway.
"What's this?" he asked.
I stayed beside the table. My heart beat hard, but my voice stayed steady.
"Dinner," I said. "Just not the one you expected."
"What's this?"
Scott stepped inside. "Why is Mr. Clement here?"
"He brought lease paperwork."
"What lease paperwork?"
"The notice I signed."
His eyes narrowed. "You signed what?"
"My notice to vacate."
"You can't just do that."
"What lease paperwork?"
"I can. The lease is in my name."
Scott looked at Mr. Clement, waiting for him to correct me.
Mr. Clement cleared his throat. "Ariana is the listed tenant. She has the right to give notice."
"But I live here," Scott said.
"Then you'll need to discuss your own arrangement," Mr. Clement replied. "Ariana won't be responsible after her notice period."
"But I live here."
Scott turned back to me. "All this because I didn't do dishes?"
The old me would have softened the truth until he could swallow it.
I didn't.
"No. This is because last night, you said out loud what I've been trying not to acknowledge."
He looked at the table. "What are those?"
"Receipts. Go on, read them."
"What are those?"
He opened the first folder. His face changed with every page.
"Why would you put this out?" he asked.
"Because I needed to see it. And because you needed to stop calling my labor love only when it helped you."
He looked at Chelsea. "You knew about this?"
Chelsea kept her voice calm. "She called me after you went to sleep."
"You knew about this?"
Scott's mouth tightened. "So you planned this behind my back?"
I stepped closer to the table. "No, Scott. I planned a dinner for you. You changed what it became."
"You always said you believed in me."
"I did."
