My books, years of them, into the bags.

My photographs.

A small glass vase I had bought on our honeymoon in San Diego, a stupid, beautiful thing I had loved for six years — she looked right at me, and dropped it into the trash, and smiled.

Mason leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and watched me take it, and I could see how much my silence was pleasing him.

He read it as defeat.