Chapter 3 - The Ghost Ship
Over the next two weeks, I operated with surgical precision. I accepted the Apex Creative job in writing, secured a modern two-bedroom apartment in a vibrant neighborhood in downtown Cincinnati close to a top-tier pediatric pulmonology clinic for Sophie’s asthma, and finalized the sale of our Columbus house.
Because the house was purchased before our marriage using an inheritance from my grandfather, the deed was solely in my name, though Ryan assumed we shared everything. When Clara presented the papers for an all-cash quick sale to an investor group, I signed every page without hesitation.
Ryan was traveling for work during week two—a three-day conference in Chicago. It was the perfect window.
I hired a moving company with the savings from my freelance accounts—accounts Ryan didn't monitor because he considered my earnings “pin money.” On a Tuesday morning while Sophie was at school, three burly movers cleared out every piece of furniture, every framed print, every dish, and every toy.
By 4:00 PM, the house was an echoing tomb of white walls and bare floorboards.
I left a single envelope on the kitchen island. Inside was a formal legal notice regarding the property sale, a carbon copy of my resignation from the fiction of our marriage, and a simple note for Ryan.
Ryan, You said your mother expressed herself badly. I have decided to save you the trouble of translating her words. Sophie and I have moved. Do not look for us. Papers will be served through my attorney. — Emily
I drove to school, picked up Sophie, and loaded our remaining bags into my Subaru. We drove south down Interstate 71 toward Cincinnati as the sun began to dip below the Ohio horizon, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and gold.
May you like
For the first time in years, the air inside my car felt entirely my own.
Two hours later, Ryan’s phone call came. It rang five times, then ten, then stopped. Then it started again. I let it ring into the void, then turned the phone off completely.
