Part 9
By the time November arrived, the autumn leaves were thick on the lawn, and the air carried the sharp, clean scent of the coming winter.
Travis had stopped calling me. His lawyer was now singing a much quieter tune, trying to negotiate a quick, uncontested divorce that would keep his name out of the local legal news. Without his mother’s backing or Jenna’s admiration, Travis had lost his swagger.
One afternoon, a large moving truck pulled up to the curb.
It wasn't Travis driving it. It was two professional movers, accompanied by a local sheriff's deputy holding a copy of the judge's order.
I stood on the porch, my arms crossed against the cold, watching them carry out the remaining items that belonged to him. His golf clubs. His expensive coffee machine that he never cleaned. The leather armchair his mother had bought him for his birthday that never matched my curtains.
Travis got out of a regular taxi a few minutes later, looking smaller than I had ever seen him. He didn't look at me as he walked up the driveway. He kept his eyes on the ground, his shoulders hunched against the wind.
He went into the garage to collect the suitcases I had left there weeks ago.
When he came out, he stopped at the edge of the porch, looking up at me through the wooden railing.
"You really hate me, don't you?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"I don't hate you, Travis," I said, looking down at him with an indifference that felt heavier than anger. "Hate takes energy. I’m just tired. And I’m done protecting your ego at the expense of my life."
"I was going to tell her," he muttered, referring to his mother. "I was going to tell her the truth about the deed. I just wanted her to be proud of me. She always wanted me to have a big house, a big name..."
"Then you should have earned it," I said. "Instead of trying to move your mistress into the house my father bled for."
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He looked like he wanted to argue, to use that old warning tone—"Nat"—that used to make me back down just to keep the peace. But he knew it didn't work anymore. The keypad on the door was black and silent, the code changed to something he would never guess.
He turned around, threw his bags into the back of the moving truck, and left without looking back once.
