Thirty Days to Goodbye

Chapter 4 Erasing the Traces

With my handover finished, I started separating the rest of our lives.

The joint credit card went first. The confirmation code arrived on my new phone, and the account closed with a balance of zero.

I downloaded the final statement before closing the page. There were no shared debts left for either of us to argue over later.

I canceled every subscription billed in my name: his twice-weekly dry cleaning, meal kits, streaming services, news alerts, and automated grocery orders.

Alexander had never asked who renewed them or why fresh shirts appeared every Monday. He only noticed those systems when they stopped working.

Then I went through the penthouse. My suitcases were already packed in the spare room. I took my books from his study, my mug from the kitchen, and the only photograph of us from its frame.

The photograph came from a vacation we had taken before Genesis consumed every weekend. I slipped it into the inner pocket of my suitcase without looking at it again.

By six, my side of the walk-in closet held a row of empty hangers.

Alexander had approved most of the clothes that once hung there. Leaving them behind would have suited him better, so I packed those too.

At 5:42, he had sent a text.

*Home for dinner at seven. We need to talk this out.*

He called it a peace offering in the next message. The third message asked whether I had restored Chloe's access yet.

I cooked one portion of salmon anyway.

Seven passed. Then eight.

At nine, a news alert appeared on my phone.

*Tech Mogul Alexander Schwartz Throws Lavish Surprise Birthday Bash for Protégé Chloe Walton.*

The article showed Chloe on a rooftop in a glittering dress, surrounded by champagne and friends. Alexander stood beside her holding a birthday cake. Fireworks filled the final photo.

The timestamp on the first picture was 7:03. At the hour he had promised to sit across from me, he had been lighting candles for her.

I saved the article for my lawyer and ate the salmon at the dining table. Alexander's place remained empty.

Afterward, I went into his study. The signed documents from my office still lay where he had dropped them.

I set a small velvet box on the desk and took out my wedding ring. Alexander had given me the platinum band five years ago, along with instructions never to wear it in public.

The ring had spent most of our marriage in that box. He wore no band at all, and every company profile described him as private about his personal life.

Beside it, I placed one sheet from my briefcase.

*Official Notice of Withdrawal of Personal Patent Authorization for Core Algorithmic Architecture.*

The notice listed the original filing numbers, the one-dollar license, and the exact time the authorization ended. His legal department would know what every line meant.

The ring held down the top corner. I checked the wall clock.

Twelve hours remained.

I photographed the desk for my records, picked up my suitcases, and left my keys in the entryway bowl.

The elevator doors closed on the apartment before midnight. Alexander still had not called to say he would miss dinner.