My phone buzzed on the passenger seat.
I figured it was Gavin. Some final instruction about returning my laptop.
It was Sarah. My ex-wife.
I almost didn’t answer. Then I remembered she was supposed to pick up the girls from school today.
“Hey.”
“Chris?” Her voice changed instantly. Eleven years of marriage and four years of divorce, and she could still hear everything in one syllable. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You sound terrible.”
“Long morning.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
A pause. Then, carefully: “Did something happen at work?”
I stared at the concrete wall.
“I got fired.”
Silence.
“What?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Why?”
I almost laughed. “Because I stopped to help somebody on the way in. A woman collapsed on Route 18. I stayed with her until the ambulance came. I missed the Whitcombe pitch.”
Sarah didn’t say anything for a long time.
Then, very quietly: “Chris. I’m so sorry.”
That hurt worse than I expected. My ex-wife and I had spent four years learning how to talk to each other without reopening old wounds. Schedules. Pickups. Dentist appointments. Polite and careful.
But every once in a while, her voice still sounded like the woman I’d once planned to grow old with.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said.
“Sophie’s tuition is due Friday.”
“I know.”
“I’m not saying it to pressure you.”
“I know.”
“And your mortgage…”
“I said I’ll figure it out.”
It came out sharper than I meant it to. Sarah went quiet.
I closed my eyes. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Another pause. Then she said something that made my chest tighten.
“You always figure it out, Chris.”
I wanted so badly to believe her.
After we hung up, I did the math in my head, because that’s what you do at thirty-eight with two kids and a mortgage.
Mortgage on my little three-bedroom house: $2,140 a month. Child support: $1,600. Sophie’s tuition at St. Agnes: $6,800 a semester. Car payment. Electric. Insurance. My health insurance would end at the end of the month. COBRA would cost me almost nine hundred dollars a month just to keep the girls on my plan.
And about eleven thousand dollars in savings.
Maybe four months, if I was careful.
I started the car. I didn’t know where I was going. I just drove, because moving felt better than thinking.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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