
“Marjorie?” Miles called as he stepped into the bedroom. “Have you seen my-” He stopped when he saw her standing by the bed, packing a suitcase. “What’s going on?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“What does it look like, Miles?” she replied, zipping the suitcase closed. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? Are you going on a trip or something? You didn’t mention one to me.”
She turned and glared at him. She held up a cell phone. “I found your little text messages, Miles. Who’s Gina? And Amanda? And Iris?”
His eyes widened and he took a step back. “Uh, I, uh…”
With a yell, she tossed his cell phone at him. He ducked it and stammered, “Marjorie, listen…”
“No Miles, you listen. I’ve had enough. For a while now, I’ve suspected something was going on, but I shrugged it off, naively believing you were working late at the office, like you claimed you had been. I should have known better. And now I’ve seen the proof, right there on your phone – the text messages, and the photos!”
Miles took a deep breath. “Marjorie, I’m sorry. I really am. There’s no excuse for what I did. But I promise…”
Majorie shook her head and grabbed the suitcase from the bed. “No, Miles,” she said, taking a step towards the door. “No promises. It’s gone on long enough. And now I’m gone.”
She stalked from the room and through the house towards the front door.
Miles called after her. “You’ll be back, Marjorie! You’ll be back!”
“Don’t count on it!” she called back, and slammed the door behind her.
This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday post, “count on it”: