Chapter 6 - The Changed Locks
The flight from San Jose del Cabo to Portland was eleven hours of coach-class misery, featuring two layovers, a middle seat next to a screaming toddler, and no food because Ethan couldn't afford a airport sandwich.
By the time his red-eye flight touched down at PDX airport just before dawn on a cold, drizzly Thursday morning, Ethan looked like a ghost of the man who had strutted out of our house two weeks earlier. His designer suit was wrinkled beyond recognition, his hair was matted, and dark, hollow circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes.
He took a cab straight to our house in the upscale suburbs, paying the driver with his last twenty-dollar bill and a handful of loose quarters.
He stepped out onto the driveway, pulling his lone suitcase behind him. The house was dark, save for a soft amber glow coming from the nursery window upstairs.
Ethan hurried up the front steps, pulled his brass house key from his pocket, and slid it into the lock.
He turned it.
Nothing happened. The deadbolt held firm.
He tried again, jamming the key harder into the cylinder, jiggling the handle with frantic desperation.
Click.
The lock had been completely replaced. The old brass hardware was gone, replaced by a sleek, modern digital keypad lock that glowed with an indifferent blue light.
"Open the damn door!" Ethan snarled, slamming his fist against the wooden panel. "Clara! I know you're in there! Open up!"
Inside the hallway, I stood in the dim light holding a warm bottle of formula, watching him through the live feed of the security camera mounted above the porch. I didn't flinch. I didn't feel a shred of pity.
"Who's there?" my voice crackled through the intercom speaker, sounding deep and electronic.
"Clara, stop playing games!" Ethan yelled, pressing his face against the doorbell camera. "Unlock this door right now! I’ve been traveling for twenty hours! I am freezing, I am exhausted, and I want to see my children!"
"You don't live here anymore, Ethan," I said evenly through the speaker. "Sarah had the lease/deed provisions updated under the emergency occupancy order. You were served divorce papers and a permanent restraining order regarding the residence via email yesterday afternoon. Did you not check your inbox?"
Ethan stumbled back a step, staring up at the camera in sheer horror. "Divorce papers? You’re divorcing me over a vacation?!"
"I’m divorcing you because you abandoned your family, drained our savings, and proved you’re a coward," I replied. "Your personal belongings—what’s left of them—are currently sitting in three heavy-duty trash bags on the curb beside the recycling bin. Have a nice life, Ethan."
"Clara, wait! You can't do this to me! My career is ruined! Vanguard put me on permanent suspension yesterday!" he cried, his voice breaking as a cold Portland rain began to mist down from the gray sky, soaking his ruined designer suit. "I have nowhere to go! My parents' house is under lien!"
"Try a motel," I said.
May you like
Then I pressed the button on my phone that muted the intercom feed.
On the screen, I watched as Ethan stood frozen in the rain for a long moment, staring at the closed door before slowly turning around and walking down the steps toward the curb where three black trash bags sat waiting in the gutter.
