She opened the door to his stony expression. He held aloft an empty bag.
Inside, he reclaimed things that had migrated from his home to hers over the course of their relationship.
She protested a particular book. She bloody well knew it wasn’t a gift. He lifted a framed photo, clocking her pained look with a sly eye. Into the bag it went.
In the bathroom, he took his toothbrush, then paused. A third toothbrush. His stomach. He knew what it meant.
Outside, he weighed the bag of goods, set it on the doorstep, walked away, and never looked back.
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