Chapter 5 - Unpacking Six Years of Lies
The house descended into an oppressive, suffocating silence. Duke had trotted back into the living room and curled up near the sofa, sensing the storm was far from over.
Grant walked back into the kitchen, pulling out a cardboard box from the pantry—a leftover box from their grocery delivery last week. Without a word, he set it on the island.
Cassidy stared at the box, her eyes widening in sheer terror. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," Grant said simply, opening the overhead cabinet and pulling down a stack of her coffee mugs.
"Grant, stop it! You can't just throw away six years like garbage! We built a life here!" She lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. Her grip was desperate, nails digging into his skin. "Talk to me! Scream at me! Hit the wall! Do something, but don't just act like I don't exist!"
Grant gently but firmly peeled her fingers off his wrist, setting her hand down on the marble as if handling a fragile, broken object. "Yelling requires caring about the outcome, Cass. Right now, I don't care about the outcome. I just want out."
"Where will you go?" she cried, her voice cracking as fresh tears spilled over. "My parents live two hours away, your brother is out of state—where are you going to live?"
"I have savings. I have a truck. I have a job," Grant said, folding a stack of her sweaters and placing them neatly into the box. "And more importantly, I have my self-respect back. Something I lost a long time ago trying to keep up appearances for you."
As he worked methodically, folding clothes and stacking toiletries, memory after memory flashed through his mind—not the romantic vacation photos on the fridge, but the quiet, grinding realities. The time she belittled his promotion because the title wasn't "fancy enough" for her college friends. The way she made him feel guilty for spending a Saturday helping his elderly uncle fix his porch because it conflicted with a dinner party she was hosting. He had spent six years contorting himself into whatever shape pleased her, believing it was love.
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"I'll have a lawyer contact you tomorrow about the house," Grant said, sealing the first cardboard box with a strip of packing tape. "You can keep the kitchen cabinets, Cass. You can keep the custom island. You can keep every single thing you used to justify trading our vows for a cheap thrill."
He hoisted the box into his arms, walked past her without a backward glance, and loaded it into the bed of his truck.
