Brendan returned home with two plastic bags looped over each wrist.  Tuesdays and Thursdays were his days to cook dinner, and with the weather forecast calling for rain, he opted for spaghetti.  He was never much of an indoor chef.

He placed the bags on the table and slipped his wrists from the grocery cuffs.  After igniting the gas stove, he filled a pot with water and set it on a burner to boil.  He exchanged his work shoes for house slippers – no need to mark the hardwood floors – and collapsed into his recliner with a handful of mail Sheila left on the kitchen table.  Bills, a magazine subscription notice, a credit card offer; all of it junk. 

The television clicked on to the nightly news, and Brendan learned of a local liquor store that was robbed at gunpoint.  Two immigrant employees were shot and in critical condition at the hospital, but the thief found himself on the wrong end of a shotgun.  The field reporter warned against vigilante justice, but his voice found new energy as he reminded the anchor desk how Americans have their second Amendment rights. 

“No news is good news,” Brendan muttered, flipping to the weather channel so he could watch multicolor clouds sweep across the midstate.

Hot water gurgled in the kitchen, which reminded Brendan of another stop he hadn’t made since his lunch break.  He used the bathroom and washed his hands, then noticed Sheila’s bathrobe was missing.  When he looked in the bedroom, he discovered Sheila’s dresser drawers were open and empty.  Had they been robbed?  The white envelope on the bed suggested otherwise.

 Dear Brendan, 

Thank you for everything you’ve done.  But it’s not enough.  I’m leaving. 

Please let me go.  We’ll both be happier this way.  It may take some time for you to make the discovery I made years ago, but I can no longer endure my suffering in silence. I left half of the money in our bank accounts.  I think that’s fair.  First stop: Ireland.  I don’t know where I’ll go from there, but the Eurorail is supposed to be a great way to see the world.  That’s what I need.  Because I’ve seen everything your world has to offer – and I need more. 

If you love someone, set them free.  If fate decides we should be reunite, we’ll meet again.  Perhaps by then, you’ll understand me better. 

- Sheila 

Beneath the envelope, an assortment of sock singlets.

Brendan’s eyes watered as he heard the pot boiling over and sizzling in the kitchen.  He wiped his eyes and cheeks and returned to prepare a dinner for one.