The Night She Left by Phoenix Lane

Sitting on the edge of the couch in the living room, Marcus gazed at the suitcase that was propped up near the front door of his family’s apartment, a harsh reminder that the life him and his wife Claire had created together was falling apart. The children were asleep in their rooms just a few feet away, and apart from the washing machine humming steadily in the hallway, he was surrounded by silence.

“I love you, Claire,” he whispered to himself. He frequently told her the same thing. But when he said it, Claire’s eyes did not soften like they used to any more. She just seemed to have had enough of his promises and excuses that always seem to vanish and wither away in a matter of minutes.

It was the degrading and irresponsible comment he had made at dinner earlier that night. Claire had become silent. The kids had been playing with the noodles in their soup, immediately recognizing that the mood had changed at the dining table. He had made an effort to laugh and retract by claiming he was just kidding. With the flat politeness of a woman who had heard it all before, Claire had nodded.

Her recent paralegal certificate was still hanging proudly on the refrigerator. Late nights, energy drinks and prayers had earned it for her. When she showed it to him, his reaction was “Do they give those out just for showing up?” Before he could stop it, the comment had slipped out, and he realized he had done it again. He just could not resist the thrill of bringing someone down before they could get too “full of themselves”. Even if it was his beloved wife.

He had always been this way. Instead of congratulating his coworkers on a job well done, he ignored or downplayed their achievements or promotions. Whenever family and friends succeeded at anything, he claimed it was luck, never acknowledging or appreciating their effort of hard work. He convinced himself that he was just being honest, but in reality, it was bitter, unrelenting envy.

Marcus stood up and went to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. He had the gentle eyes of his mother, but the rest of his face was all his father, who was the meanest, cruelest person he had ever known. As a young boy he could never do well enough to please his father. His father used to tell him, “You’re good for nothing,” and Marcus had accepted it.

By the time he got back from the bathroom, Claire was sitting on the couch with her notepad, the one she used to keep herself organized. When he entered, she didn’t appear surprised, or even angry. Her face just indicated that she was tired, both physically and mentally. “What’s up with that?” he asked, gesturing towards the suitcase.

“Nothing.” She responded nonchalantly, not wanting to upset him.

“I keep telling you I’m trying to be better. I don’t know what else you want from me”, he said gruffly.

She closed the notebook and moved to the far end of the couch, nodding her head as if in agreement but deep down she knew better.

He sat in the armchair directly across from her so there was barely any space for her to move. He felt the impulse to spout the same old script. To cry, to promise change, to declare his love for her. All of which she had heard many times before. As she tried to avoid his eyes, he felt resentment rising, pushing him to confess something he had never said out loud. In a slightly raised voice, he blurted out, “I hate that you are so independent.”

Claire’s expression remained the same. “Yea, I know.”

Marcus went on, “I feel like you don’t need me, you barely speak to me. Like, you are happy without me.”

She remained silent for a while, then spoke softly. “I was independent before I met you. You broke down my walls so I would have to need you, then you abandoned me. That is not love. At least not the way I want to be loved.”

“But I’m trying my best,” he whispered, more to himself than her.

“You are worthy.” Claire’s grandmother’s favorite advice came to mind. “Marcus, I need peace.” She said out loud. “Our children deserve peace and happiness. You always try to crush our spirits and it’s not healthy.”

He glanced at the sticky note on the refrigerator with the therapist’s number. His sister had urged him several times to try couple’s therapy but he had been so stubborn about calling, he never even tried. Is it too late, he wondered?

He felt he would be acknowledging that his inner darkness was a choice rather than a permanent state if he made the call to the therapist. He would have to truly face himself, the boy who grew up without love and praise, and also overcome years of jealousy and hate. He didn’t like anyone telling him anything negative about himself. He knew he would lose the children and Claire, and the delusion that it was everyone else’s fault if he didn’t.

He walked over to the refrigerator and took the sticky note off and just stared at it, cell phone in his hand. Then he turned back to face Claire and crushed the note in his fist. Slowly and consciously.

Claire’s shoulders dropped as she knew that this was confirmation that he did not want change bad enough. Her voice was steady as she said firmly, “I can’t do this anymore. We’re leaving, I’ll be at my mother’s.”

Marcus had to stop himself from automatically pleading that he would change. He didn’t even believe his own words anymore. Instead, he felt a weird sense of calm, of peaceful surrender. “There is no one out there better than me, I’m the best you will ever have.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

Despite her tightening jaw, Claire held her tongue. It was useless to keep going back and forth with him. She used to love him so much, but now there was no more patience and love inside her. She got up from the couch and headed to their bedroom. The sound of another suitcase being zippered up echoed through the apartment.

A few minutes later, Marcus heard drawers open and tiny feet shuffling in the children’s bedroom. Still half asleep, 5-year-old twins Mason and Mia asked questions that he could not hear. Claire’s reassuring voice responded in a quiet but firm tone. He didn’t walk down the hallway, or try to stop them when they walked past him. The front door opened and for a moment, he could smell the cool outside air as it swept into the living room. The damp earth, vehicle pollution, and the deliciousness of a neighbor cooking dinner. The footsteps of his entire world faded away. Emptier than ever, the apartment seemed to embrace the silence.

Marcus continued to stare at the closed front door while he sat back on the armchair. Guilt pressed against his ribs for a moment, making it hard to breathe. Then as quick as it came, it vanished, and he immediately felt immersed with resentment once more, which was easier and darker.

Let Claire go if she wants, he thought. Let the children be happy elsewhere, they will surely miss me. He would continue to be himself, stubborn and never changing. The washing machine clicked, indicating the cycle had ended, and the silence in the apartment seemed unbearable louder. However, Marcus smiled for the first time in a long time. He thought, the world was at fault if it couldn’t handle a man like him.

THE END