He stepped back into the hole and started digging again.
Slower this time.
The sound of the shovel hitting dirt filled the space between us.
“Do it, or I swear, I’m done.”
Ava stood close to me, quiet, her hand wrapped around mine.
After a minute, the shovel hit something solid.
Robert stopped and knelt before brushing away the dirt with his hands.
Then he pulled out a waterproof container.
Gray. Sealed tight.
He set it on the ground and looked up at me.
“Open it,” I said.
He hesitated for a second, then unlatched it.
The shovel hit something solid.
Inside were smaller boxes, neatly packed.
I crouched down and saw neatly folded clothes, canned food, bottled water, and more.
Things you’d set aside if you were planning to leave without saying it out loud.
I reached in and picked up a red sweater.
I realized it was mine, the one I’d been looking for months ago!
I held it in my hands for a second, then set it back down.
“You’ve been taking pieces of our life and hiding them out here?”
He didn’t answer.
I stood up slowly.
I realized it was mine.
Everything felt clearer now.
Not better.
Just clearer.
I turned and knelt in front of Ava.
“Hey,” I said gently. “Next time something feels wrong… You tell me first, okay?”
She nodded right away.
“Okay.”
I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and gave her a small smile.
Then I stood and turned back to Robert.
Everything felt clearer now.
I didn’t raise my voice or go through everything again.
I just looked at him.
“You should’ve told me the truth before you started practicing leaving. Maybe we could have figured it out together.”
He swallowed, but didn’t respond.
I took Ava’s hand.
“Come on,” I said softly.
We walked past him.
Past the open hole.
Past the container, still sitting there with pieces of our life inside it.
I didn’t look back.
He swallowed, but didn’t respond.
***
The drive home was quiet.
Ava leaned her head against the window, watching the trees pass by.
My mind was already moving, but not in panic. Strategically.
What needed to happen next?
I’d have to take on more work. Not just side jobs, but full-time ones.
The sewing I’d been doing on weekends? That would have to become something real.
We might have to sell the house.
