Chapter4
Packing took far less time than I had imagined.
It was pathetic how little in this house actually belonged to me. His suits dominated two-thirds of the walk-in closet, color-coded from charcoal to navy to black, while the drawers were stuffed with his cufflinks and watches. The shelves groaned under the weight of his business books and finance magazines. Trophies lined up side by side, all bearing his name.
From the very bottom drawer, I dug out a few of my sweaters and pairs of jeans, folded them, and dropped them into my suitcase. My laptop. A charger. A half-filled notebook. That was it. Five years of my existence, swallowed entirely by a single suitcase.
I paused by the bookcase. On the highest shelf sat an old tin box. I stepped on a chair to retrieve it, prying the lid open. Inside lay a black leather-bound notebook, its pages frayed and dog-eared. A circular coffee stain marked the cover—five years ago, in a drafty basement, he had knocked over a mug of instant coffee, and I had frantically wiped it up with my own sleeve.
These were Elias’s coding notes from the very beginning of his startup. Back then, the company didn’t even have a name, and we scraped together the server hosting fees in three agonizing installments. The pages were crammed with system architecture drafts, variable naming schemes, error logs, and debugging records.
The day he secured his first round of funding, he placed this notebook solemnly into my hands. "Clara, this is everything I have. Only the woman I love most deserves to hold onto my original dream."
Staring at it now, I felt nothing but a wave of nausea at the irony. His original dream? It had long since been repurposed as onboarding material for another woman.
I took the notebook out and ripped off the protective cover I had painstakingly wrapped around it myself. I slid it into an express courier bag, neatly filling out Mia’s name and the company address. Inside, I slipped a single Post-it note: "The most important code you'll ever need to learn is right here. Keep it safe."
I scheduled a same-day courier. They picked it up half an hour later.
I stood in the entryway, gripping the handle of my suitcase. Half a glass of his stale water sat on the coffee table. A tie he’d forgotten to put away draped lazily over the sofa.
I slipped the wedding band off my finger. Inside the platinum loop, two letters were engraved: C & E. I stared at it for a moment before dropping it into the valet tray by the door. The metal chimed sharply against the dish.
Beside it, I left a printed time ledger:
Item / Data
Elias guiding Mia through onboarding: 287 hours
Elias sending Mia instructional work emails: 189 emails
Elias accompanying Clara to prenatal checkups: 0 times
Elias reading Clara’s email "Page Three Patch": 0 minutes
Elias cooking pasta for Clara: 0 times
At the bottom, a single typed line: "You packaged my code and sent it to her as training material. You even gave her the version of you in that crisp white shirt. Elias, where you invest your time is where your heart is."
Underneath was a second sheet of paper—a printed screenshot of an email. It was an attachment Elias had sent to Mia, the file renamed to Mia_Onboarding_Material_v3.2.
No letters. No handwritten notes. I pushed open the front door and walked out.
The cab rumbled toward Brooklyn. I pulled out my phone and texted Raven: "I’ve moved out."
Raven replied instantly: "Congratulations on your new life!"
I dropped the phone in my lap and stared out the window. It was autumn in New York, the leaves mostly turned a blinding yellow and gold. Suddenly, my phone began to vibrate violently against my leg. Elias flashed across the screen. I watched it buzz for a long moment before pressing accept.
"What the hell is this resignation letter you sent?" His voice blasted through the receiver, explosive and laced with a frantic edge I’d never heard before. "Where are you right now?"
I said nothing. The background behind him was noisy, like someone was rummaging through a desk. Then, I caught Mia’s voice—timid, accompanied by the loud, crinkling sound of plastic packaging being torn apart.
"Elias... is this courier package for me? From Clara?"
"What package?" Elias demanded.
"An express delivery bag... Oh, it’s a really old black notebook. It’s so worn out, the edges are all chewed up..."
A dead silence slammed into the phone line. I could perfectly picture Elias’s face draining of blood in that exact moment. Sitting in the back of the cab, watching the city blur by, I didn't breathe a word.
"What does it say here..." Mia continued murmuring, entirely oblivious. "...Only the woman I love most... deserves..."
"Don't touch it!"
Elias erupted into a deafening roar. Something heavy sounded like it was violently overturned—a chair, maybe a desk—followed immediately by Mia’s sharp, terrified shriek. "Elias, what are you doing!"
"Clara!" Elias’s voice cracked. The cold, patronizing arrogance from a minute ago was entirely gone, instantly replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror. He was shaking; I could hear it in his breath. "Why did you send this to her? What does this mean? Clara, where are you?!"
