I used to think I’d never be that girl. The one who quietly zips up her things, checks the hallway for footsteps, and leaves before anyone notices. But this morning, I was. Two suitcases. One black bag. That’s all I took.
I didn’t leave a note. Didn’t text. I just stood in the hallway, staring at those two weird watermelon-looking paintings we argued about when we moved in. He said they were “quirky.” I said they looked like a biology textbook. We laughed. That was back when we still laughed at the same things.