Last Thanksgiving Gary left.

I came back from picking up my mother in law and the closet was half empty. There was a note on the kitchen counter, under the salt shaker of all things.

Eight words. “I found someone who doesn’t nag. I’m done.” I read it like four times. Then I checked our account because something in my gut already knew. Zero. Not low. Zero. He’d moved every dollar out days before, while I was making a grocery list for a turkey.

Two kids asleep upstairs. A rented duplex. And a note under a salt shaker.

The funny thing your brain does, the first person I wanted to call was my mom. Isn’t that something. Five years of nothing and the second my life fell apart I wanted my mommy. I cried about that more than I cried about Gary, honestly.

So a couple weeks later I drove out to her house. I had this whole thing planned in my head. I’d knock, she’d open that red door, she’d be mad for about thirty seconds and then she’d let me in and put the kettle on and say I told you so, and I’d let her, because she earned it. I practiced what I’d say in the car. “You were right, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

I pulled up and the tomato garden was gone. Just dirt and weeds. That was the first thing that felt wrong. My mom would never let her garden go.

A young guy answered the door. Maybe thirty. Confused why this crying woman was on his porch. I asked for Carol. He looked back into the house and a girl came up behind him, and he said, “Oh. We bought this place last year. It was an estate sale.”