Julia stood at the closet’s door as if it were the portal out of here–this city, this house, this home. Him. In a way, it was. Next she knew, she was packing her clothes.
Predictably, Eric soon entered the room. He stood awkwardly between the doorway and the bed, watching her haphazardly shove ten years of marriage into a too-small suitcase. Say the right thing, Eric, she thought. If you could only say the right thing, we could stop this madness. We could save our marriage. We could be together again, you and me. We could be twenty again.
Instead, Eric put his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight to his left. “Well, then,” he took a breath. “What’s the plan, Stan?” he asked, cocking his head to the right.
“Oh God,” she fumed, whipping her head around, “I can’t believe I once thought you were a worthwhile human being!”