I went upstairs.
In our bedroom, Lucas had left his side almost bare. Closet half-empty. Dresser drawers pulled clean. The missing spaces looked accusing.
I opened the drawer of his nightstand.
Nothing.
Then the closet shelves.
Nothing but a few shoeboxes and a stack of sweaters he claimed were too bulky to pack.
In
the bathroom, his shaving cream remained beside the sink.
I picked it up, then set it back down.
A ridiculous thought crossed my mind: he had left enough behind to make the lie believable. Enough to suggest return. Not enough to inconvenience himself.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
The last time I had been in this room with him, he had held my suitcase while I searched for my earrings. He had watched me in the mirror.
“You okay?” he had asked.
I had nodded.
He had stepped behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders.
“You look pale.”
