Rufus was leaning against a nearby rack, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted to one side.

"Gorgeous. You look gorgeous in everything."

She handed the clothes to the salesgirl and said she'd take both.

Rufus pulled out his phone and scanned the code to pay. Not a second of hesitation.

She smiled, tilting her face up to look at him. There was something in her eyes.

Something that looked a lot like devotion.

I watched from several counters away, and the pain flared again.

Not the sharp kind. A dull ache. Like someone punching me in the chest, slow and steady, over and over.

In all our years of marriage, the number of times we'd gone shopping together could be counted on one hand. Every time I offered to take her, she'd wave me off. Shopping is exhausting. Isn't it nicer to just stay home?

I'd always wanted us to catch a movie together, but she'd say theaters were too loud, that watching on the projector at home was the same thing. So I bought a projector. Then she said she was tired, said maybe another day.

Another day became another week, became never.

I'd always believed she genuinely didn't enjoy shopping. Didn't enjoy movies.

Now I knew.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy them.

She just didn't enjoy them with me.

They left the mall and headed to a steakhouse on the third floor.

I stood in the fire escape at the end of the corridor, watching through the small window in the door.

They sat by the window. Rufus ordered two steaks and a bottle of red wine. When Marjorie cut into her steak, she sliced off a piece and lifted her fork to his lips.

Rufus opened his mouth and took it. He chewed slowly, watching her with a gaze so tender it practically melted.

Then he raised his wine glass and clinked it against hers.

They looked at each other across the table and smiled.

When Marjorie smiled, she tilted her head slightly, and a strand of hair slipped from her shoulder. She reached up with her free hand and tucked it behind her ear.

The motion was slow. Effortless.

And impossibly alluring.

I hadn't seen her do that since we were dating.

Halfway through the meal, Rufus set down his knife and fork.

"Marjorie, how come Edmund's away on business again?"

She laughed, picked up her napkin, dabbed the corner of her mouth, and turned the question back on him.

"Isn't it a good thing he's away?"

Her tone was light, casual, like she was talking about the weather.

Rufus stood up, walked around the table, and sat down beside her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, leaned in, and kissed her on the lips.

The kiss wasn't deep, but it lingered.

"Of course it's a good thing. I wish he traveled every single day. Better yet, a whole year straight."

He paused, then kissed her again.

"That way we could be together every day."

Marjorie didn't push him away. She leaned into him instead, resting her head on his shoulder, one hand settling on his thigh.

The expression on her face was perfectly clear from where I stood.

Contentment.

The kind that comes from being loved. From being wanted.

After dinner, they went downstairs and got in the car.

I hailed another cab and followed.

The car finally stopped in front of a hotel. Not some budget chain. A high-end business hotel.

The two of them walked into the lobby hand in hand.

I trailed behind, watching through the glass of the revolving door as they approached the front desk. Rufus pulled out his ID. The clerk processed them. The whole thing took less than two minutes.

Smooth. Practiced.

Then they turned and walked toward the elevator.

I stood where I was, staring at the motionless floor number above the elevator doors, and I stood there for a long time.

People passed through the lobby around me. Someone glanced my way, but nobody cared who I was.

I walked to the lounge area and sank into one of the sofas.

I pulled out my phone and checked the time.

Then I called Marjorie.

One ring. No answer.

Three rings. No answer.

Seven rings. Still nothing.

On the eleventh ring, she finally picked up.

"Hey, babe?"

Her voice was tight, her breathing unsteady, like she was adjusting something.

I asked her what she was up to.

"Just out shopping. With a girlfriend."

Her tone had already leveled out, carrying that lazy, casual ease she always had when we chatted at home.

"Been at it all day. I'm exhausted."

I didn't call her out. "Where are you shopping?"

"Oh, you know... over by the Galleria."

She laughed. It sounded natural.

The old me would never have caught a single crack.

"My trip got canceled. The client rescheduled last minute." I forced my voice to stay even. "I'm at the train station now. Can you come pick me up?"

Silence on the other end.

About three seconds.

Those three seconds stretched forever.

Long enough for me to hear the gears turning in her head.

Then she spoke, a note of reluctance threading through her voice.

"Oh, I really can't get away right now. My friend and I just sat down to eat."

"Maybe you could grab an Uber..."

That was when a man's voice came through in the background.

"Marjorie, the bath's ready. Come join me."

The line went dead silent.

Four, maybe five seconds passed before she spoke again.

Her voice had dropped low, laced with panic.

"Just take a car home. I'll be back later."

Then she hung up. Fast.

I lowered my phone and sank into the sofa in the hotel lobby, staring at the elevator display frozen on the number eight.

The last flicker of light inside me dimmed.

Faded.

Went out completely.

The lobby was quiet. A piano piece drifted from the speakers, something I didn't recognize. The melody was flat and unhurried, like it was being played by someone who felt nothing at all.

I thought of our wedding day, suddenly and without warning.

The officiant had asked: Marjorie Swanson, do you take Edmund Dickerson to be your lawfully wedded husband?

She'd said, I do.

She'd been looking at me then, and her eyes had light in them.

I believed she meant it in that moment.

I also believed she meant it now, with Rufus.

But a heart is only so big. Fill it with one person, and there's no room left for another.

I sat there for I don't know how long.

Then I took out my phone and sent a message.

Marjorie Swanson.

I want a divorce.