The locksmith changed the locks as Gavin packed his things.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered.

“Your Friday plan is,” I answered quietly.

When he drove away, the house finally felt still.

My phone buzzed—confirmation that our bank account was locked and flagged for dual verification.

I stood in the living room, staring at the folded gray blanket.

The performance was over.

I didn’t feel victorious.