Three Years and Eighteen Goodbyes

The next morning, I woke up and immediately began packing my suitcase.

I was only halfway through when Kit walked through the door, wearing a pale pink dress shirt.

Trailing behind him was a strong wave of rose perfume.

The scent hit me hard, and I froze for a moment.

He used to hate the smell of perfume.

For that reason, all these years together, I never wore any.

I had even thrown out my entire collection, including bottles I had cherished for years.

But now I understood—he didn’t hate perfume. He just didn’t like it on me.

He paused briefly when he saw me packing, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Katy sobered up very late last night,” he said.

“I booked a hotel room alone and stayed there—that’s why I didn’t come home.”

I glanced up at him in surprise.

It was the first time in our three years of marriage that he had ever offered an explanation for his absence.

I nodded, saying nothing.

He slowly stepped closer, looking down as he asked, “Are you packing for a flight assignment?”

I nodded again.

“Something like that.”

At my answer, he seemed, for reasons I couldn’t quite name, to exhale in relief.

Then he added, “I’ve got a few things to take care of today. Just stopped by to grab something. I won’t stay for lunch.”

“Alright.”

I didn’t look up and kept packing my suitcase.

I had planned to tell him over lunch that I’d quit my job, to finally draw a full stop on our eight-year relationship.

But that was not going to happen now.

Kit grabbed a red paper bag, picked up the jacket hanging by the door, and rushed out.

Just then, the picture frame that had hung by the doorway for eight years suddenly fell to the floor.

Glass shattered across the tiles.

I glanced over.

It was a photo of us at our first concert together. Our hands were clasped together, grinning like we had no care in the world.

That night, he had promised me that no matter how busy life got, he’d take me to a concert every year.

But once Katy became his student, he forgot all the promises he had made to me.

The clock ticked steadily in the empty room.

I sat still for a long while before quietly sweeping up the broken glass.

Then, I tossed the photo, along with whatever affection that still lingered in my heart, into the trash.