My parents helped me unpack. Everything was put away within the hour.

My old bedroom. The one I’d grown up in.

Small, just a wardrobe and a desk, but it still felt like mine.

That evening, my parents made all my favorites for dinner.

Yesterday they’d cooked half the menu around Julian’s tastes, since he was supposed to come for Thanksgiving. He never showed, and most of it went uneaten.

Tonight, no one had to cook around him.

After dinner, my parents took me out for a walk. We followed the old stone path that wound through the neighborhood.

My dad put it simply. “Life’s going to knock you down. That part’s unavoidable. What matters is whether you get back up.”

“You’ve made your decision. Don’t let him take up any more space in your head.”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t done. This isn’t a bluff.”

“I’ve been wanting to switch jobs for a while anyway. I only stayed because I thought it would be easier if I got pregnant, low stress, flexible hours. That’s not happening now, so I quit. I’m going to travel for a month, clear my head, and then start fresh. I’ve already got some leads.”

They looked relieved.

“Good. As long as you’ve got a plan.”

“You haven’t taken a real trip since college. Go. You deserve it.”

Julian didn’t text until I was about to fall asleep.

[Where’s all your stuff? Claire, don’t tell me you moved everything to your parents’ place.]

[Are you serious right now? How old are you? Running home to your parents over something this small?]

Before I could even think about replying, one more came through.

[Fine. Suit yourself. Let’s see how long this little tantrum lasts.]

He still thought this was a tantrum. That I’d come crawling back.

The next morning, before I left for my trip, I mailed him a fresh copy of the divorce papers. Printed, signed.

Two copies this time. One to the apartment. One to his office.

Then I slung my backpack on and boarded the train.

Neck pillow, eye mask, out cold before the train doors even closed. When I woke up, I was already there.

I followed the crowd off the platform and checked my phone.

Julian again.

[What the hell, Claire? You sent divorce papers to my OFFICE?]

[Are you serious right now?]

[Answer me. Pick up your phone and TALK to me.]

I had nothing left to say to him.

He’d figure out whether this was a tantrum or a divorce soon enough.

I read the messages, put my phone away, and let it go.

I was here to travel. So I traveled.

I rented a bike and rode along the coast, seagulls wheeling overhead, the ocean stretching out forever, gold sand, people everywhere.

I rolled my jeans up to my knees and waded into the water.

Fish darted around my ankles, close enough to touch, impossible to catch. They didn’t belong to anyone.

Tiny crabs scattered across the sand. I chased them for a while, caught a few, let them all go, just crouched there, sifting sand through my fingers.

Nobody knew me here. I could do whatever I wanted, and no one would call me dramatic for it.

The wind blew in off the water, and I let it take everything, every heavy thing I’d been carrying.

When I’d had my fill of the beach, I found a seafood place right on the water.

Julian called while I was waiting for my food. I felt absolutely nothing.

I watched his name flash on the screen, then set the phone facedown on the table.

Outside the window, the waves kept rolling in. I watched them and waited for my food.

When I didn’t pick up, he switched to texts.

[Claire. Answer your phone. Call me back.]

[Fine, it’s my fault, okay? I’m sorry. Can we just sit down and talk about this?]

Even now, the best he could give me was “fine, it’s my fault.” Not “I was wrong.” Just a concession to shut me up.

But I didn’t need his apology anymore. I didn’t need his comfort, and I sure as hell didn’t need another one of his make-it-up-to-you dinners.

I smiled. My food arrived. I didn’t write back.