She looked up, her blue eyes bright and innocent. “Gary? Is he home?”

“I think so,” I said. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

We walked down the sidewalk, the dry autumn leaves rustling under our sneakers.

The red Dodge Ram was parked in Gary’s gravel driveway. The dent on the front bumper was exactly where Lily had drawn it.

I stood on his porch and knocked on the screen door. My hand was steady now, numb with a strange, cold certainty.

Gary answered the door wearing a stained gray t-shirt and work boots. He looked tired, but when his eyes traveled from my face down to Lily, every ounce of color drained from his skin.

Lily let go of my hand and ran up to the screen. “Hi! Are you here to see us too?” she asked, her voice sweet and cheerful.

Gary stared at her, then looked up at me. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He did not try to deny it. He did not make an excuse.

“She wasn’t supposed to be awake,” he stammered, backing away from the door. “Your wife told me your daughter sleeps through the night. I told her this was getting too close to home, Mark. I told her we should stop.”

“How long?” I asked. My voice was very quiet, but it made Gary flinch.

“Six months,” he whispered, looking down at his boots. “She told me you guys were basically living separate lives. She said the divorce was already planned. I didn’t know you were still…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t reach through the screen. I just grabbed Lily’s hand, turned around, and walked back to my split-level house. The air felt incredibly sharp and cold.

When Sarah got home from the dental clinic at 5:30 PM, her black garbage bags were already waiting on the front porch. She stopped at the bottom of the steps, her keys clutching in her hand as she looked at the bags, then at me standing in the doorway.

I had placed the green construction paper drawing on top of the largest bag, held down by a small stone from the garden.

Sarah looked at the drawing, then slowly looked up at me. There were no tears in her eyes. There was no panic. Her face just went completely flat, the same cold, practical expression she used when she was calculating our monthly bills.

“You were never here anyway, Mark,” she said, her voice completely calm. “You chose the road. You chose the commissions. I was just tired of being alone in this house.”

She did not ask to see Lily. She just loaded the garbage bags into the back of her Buick and drove away, her tires crunching on the dry leaves.