His jaw tightened.
Of course he had.
The clothes. The message. None of this was spontaneous. It had all been planned.
“You were going to leave,” I said slowly, “without even saying goodbye to the kids?”
“They’ll be fine. I’ll send money.”
My hand curled around the edge of the counter.
“Money,” I repeated. “Rose is going to ask where her pancakes are tomorrow morning. You think a bank transfer answers that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not doing this.”
Then he turned and headed upstairs.
I followed.
Because there was no way I was letting him disappear from our family like a ghost walking down the hallway.
Our bedroom door was open. His suitcase sat on the bed, already half zipped, clothes folded far too neatly for someone who’d just decided to leave.
“You were never going to tell me, were you?” I asked.
“I was.”
“When? After the hotel? After the pictures showed up online?”
He didn’t answer.
