Chapter 4After the Rain, Never See You Again

On the weekend, Kayla came over for dinner.

After the meal, Noah went to do the dishes.

Kayla's office called. An important client had changed the scope at the last minute, and she had to return for an immediate meeting.

Noah came out of the kitchen with his wet hands held in front of him.

"I'll drive you."

He swiped his hands across the apron, untied it, and tossed it onto the couch.

He normally couldn't stand anything from the kitchen being carried into the living room.

After they left, I went to the kitchen to finish the dishes he'd left half-done.

As I scrubbed a pan, I realized it wasn't the one we used to own.

Whenever Kayla came for dinner, she had complained that the old pan heated unevenly and left the fish tasting scorched.

After that, she never complained again.

I picked up my phone and searched for the same model.

It was a pure-titanium nonstick pan imported from Germany, priced at nearly $3,000.

The pan it replaced was one Noah had complained was too heavy and hard on his wrist whenever he tossed food in it.

I had compared dozens of options and contacted one retailer after another about the weight before choosing it.

When I finished the dishes, I opened the guest room where Kayla sometimes stayed.

There was a new floor lamp by the bed.

The guest room in the old apartment hadn't had a bedside lamp.

Back then, Noah had said, "She's only a guest for a few nights. There's no reason to spend that much."

Kayla had complained that she liked to read in bed but didn't even have a decent lamp.

I pulled up the product listing.

Smart dimming, premium eye-friendly lighting, nearly $1,500.

The curtains caught my eye next.

The heavy blackout fabric belonged in a luxury hotel suite.

Kayla used to complain that too much morning light entered the old apartment and ruined her sleep.

I took a deep breath and looked around the room.

Kayla had said the air conditioner was too loud. Now an ultraquiet HVAC system serviced the guest room.

The bed was made with the pale floral sheets she'd admired when she dragged me through a home-goods store.

I stumbled out of the guest room.

I knocked against the vase on the living room cabinet.

It was the one Kayla had given us when we moved in.

She'd smiled and said, "Hydrangeas would look gorgeous in this vase."

Three blue-and-purple hydrangeas now stood in the vase.

They were serene and lush, as lovely as a watercolor.

Noah had brought them home from work two days ago.

I gasped, covered my mouth with both hands, and stumbled backward.

I couldn't bear to look at anything else in that home.

I fled.

At five that afternoon, Noah called to say Kayla was taking us out to dinner.

I said I was busy at a coworker's place and couldn't make it.

He said he'd pick me up after dinner.

In the past, if I wasn't free, they'd wait until I was before getting together.

I had been too slow to see it, too sure of my place in their lives.

At eight-thirty that evening, Noah came to get me.

I picked up the divorce agreement off the table, put it in my bag, and went down to meet him.

He seemed out of sorts.

"What's wrong? Did you and Kayla have another spat?"

The question gave Noah's irritation somewhere to go.

The whole way, he griped nonstop.

Apparently, he and Kayla had started debating a product requirement over dinner.

The data, he argued, proved that the feature addressed a real user need.

Kayla insisted metrics couldn't capture how users actually felt, and the argument went on and on.

His whole face lit up as he spoke. He looked like the brilliant, ambitious product designer I had fallen for.

I remembered last summer, when Noah and I had disagreed over which of two features should take priority on the screen.

He had disagreed with me and looked ready to debate it.

Then he had merely smiled and patted my head.

"You're right."

He had never agreed with me.

He simply hadn't cared enough to understand the reasoning behind my position.

He hadn't cared enough to explain his own reasoning, either.

He had disguised indifference as compromise.

The signs had always been there.

I gripped the divorce agreement in my bag.

Our marriage had held thousands of genuinely happy moments.

Could I really let all of it end?

A last ember of hope still glowed in my chest, refusing to die.

"Noah," I said softly.

"You used to hate having Kayla so involved in our lives."

"You two are always fighting anyway. Maybe we should put some distance between us and her."

Noah froze.

His grip loosened on the wheel. One hand went to his hair; the other brushed his forehead.

The car drifted slightly.

"Noah!" I screamed.

He snapped back to attention and seized the wheel again.

He opened his mouth as if to say something.

I cut him off.

His silence had answered everything.

I pulled out my phone and requested an extended leave from my manager.

The next day, once Noah had left to pick up Kayla, I pulled out my suitcase and packed.

When I finished, I left the signed divorce settlement agreement on the dining table.

I placed my wedding ring beside it.