The Day I Left

By Lenny Dufrain

He didn’t say anything to me as I entered the kitchen. It was chilly, yet not unfamiliar. For the last few months we’d been dancing a non-consensual dance of silence; initiated by him. I politely asked him to pass me the orange juice from the refrigerator. He consented in equal politeness. It was the sort of interaction one would expect at a coffee shop between two strangers, but not one I ever expected to have with my husband. 

Chiding the instinct to touch him, I gracefully slid beside him to grab a glass from the cabinet. I closed the cupboard door a bit too loudly so I whispered a shameful, ‘Excuse me’ as I moved my hand away. With his face turned away, he nodded in acknowledgement. 

Mustering up more courage than I felt, I asked him what his plans for the day were. His eyes firmly planted into the stirring of his coffee, he responded with the usual: gym, walking the dog, then who knows. “Are you going to be here when I leave?” I asked simply. “Maybe,” he replied without looking up, “Or maybe not. We’ll see.” I guess I should have expected as much, but hearing it was searing. 

We had decided to get divorced that very morning. And realizing that I could not stay in the same city let alone home with him... Without hesitation I booked a flight for Montana for that very day. And for some stupid reason I expected him to be home when the car came to take me away. Yet like so many moments we had come to share, he was not willing to show the slightest empathetic bend. 

As I finished the juice, he brightly wished me a good flight. I thanked him for his largesse as I rinsed the glass. He walked out of the kitchen and my life without so much as a backwards glance. Having five hours till I needed to be at the airport, I called the car to come. And without saying anything to the driver, I sat in the backseat and cried as we drove away. He is no monster and I am no victim; just a series of missteps that eroded something that was once so bright.