There was a post script. A friend will hold onto my stuff. Send it to this address. Itwas in a part of town that was unfamiliar to me.
What was going on? And then I saw the house key that was also on my pillow.
Cold crept into my gut. Was this his way of telling me he was no longer interested in what we had, in us?
I strode down the hall to his room. The bed had been stripped. The closet still had suits and shirts, but the dresser was empty except for a handful of undershirts, shorts, and socks.
I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He was gone? But why—
No. I would not let him throw away what we had so easily.
Still…If he wanted out of our relationship, I couldn’t make him stay. How could I? I’d never tried to hold on to anyone who wanted out of an affair. I was a mature, reasonable adult, after all.
However, at the very least, he did owe me an explanation. I went back to my bedroom, picked up the bedside phone, and speed dialed his cell phone number.