He's got it coming

1

Droplets of rain splash my front door as I shake my blonde hair before heading inside, but it's not like bad weather will ever stop me from seeing you.

Patting my coat and shoes dry, I bring them upstairs and place them with the rest of my clothes in a box in the guest room. It's taken me a few weeks to prepare, but today, Friday, August twenty-fourth, is the day. The apartment smells of bitter moist wood, and like any unpredictable August, the temperature was tropical three days ago, today it's ideally cold with six degrees Celsius. Outside, rain splashes on the windowsill, washing Oslo clean, as if that's possible. At least there's no music blasting from the bar adjacent. I close both windows in the guestroom, then move into our bedroom to close the two in there as well.

Don't want the water to ruin the floors.

The cotton fabric's soft between my fingers as I lift your shirt off its hanger and bury my face in it. Honey, fresh lime and oak. I whisper. "Only you." Only you would mix your own unique perfume to be satisfied, making sure it wasn't too sweet, too strong but perfect. Now, it's the scent of home for me.

Soon we'll be together again.

I lay the shirt in a box, careful not to wrinkle it or any of your other clothes as one by one I stack them on top of each other, with memories of days in this apartment together flashing before me with each garment. The knitted wool sweater you wore when we moved in here three years ago. With no furniture, no heat; I watched you struggle to light the damp fireplace, and still, the scent of bonfire lingers in the sweater.

Recalling the warmth of that day, I stroke my arms to keep warm, then pull the sweater back up from its box and put it on, rolling the much too long sleeves.

You did say I look cute in it.

I pack the rest into four boxes and place them on top of mine in the guest room.

Pulling the sheets off the bed, it dawns on me that it's the last time I'll sleep here. I've loved this bed; waking here with you, our conversations after sex, how you shuffled over to my side if I was mad at you. You'd kiss me, even though I pushed you off and your relentlessness made me cave every time.

We'll never have that again.

Without you here, this is just an apartment, not a home. You are my home and where I belong.

After folding the bedding and placing that on top of my boxes filled with computer equipment, ethical hacking diplomas, and phones, I do one last scan of our bedroom to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. I don't want anyone to have to clean after I'm gone.

What years ago was a beginning, full of opportunities is now an end. We won't decorate this room anymore, paint or create memories, someone else will have that joy.

My hands shake as my skin touch the cold handle, and I shut the door. A few details left, and I'm ready. I pull my fingers into fists to gain control and whisper to myself. "This is for the best." I check my make-up in the bathroom mirror and head down our black spiral staircase, make sure the front door is unlocked and continue into our living room.

There's no turning back now.

Away from its place in the windowsill with other memories, our wedding picture seems lonely at the dining table, so I lift it into my hands and sit. The freezing temperature is getting to me, sitting still, and my lips shiver as I whisper. "My wonderful husband. We're so blissful here."

I'm happy I turned off all the heat yesterday. The fireplace is teasing me about lighting a log, but that will make things worse for everyone. I lean my head on my shoulder, feeling your sweater's wool tickle my cheek, inhaling its scent and imagine the fire burning.