“Was.”

I stood in the doorway and watched him fold his fishing shirts.

The green one.

The gray one with the pocket.

He put his tackle box on top of the clothes and pressed it down.

“You’re taking the fishing gear,” I said.

“I’m taking what’s mine.” He zipped the suitcase and set it on the floor.

“My lawyer says we shouldn’t leave anything in the house that we care about.”