I paused, looking at the older man with pity. “He didn’t just break my arm, sir. He broke the marriage. I’m just the one signing the death certificate.

I’m done.”

I stepped onto the porch. The ice from the night before had melted into wet puddles, reflecting the amber streetlights.

“Elena, wait! Don’t do this!” Jason called after me, his voice cracking into a whine. “I’ll change! I’ll help around the house! I’ll shovel the snow! Just… not like this!”

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to look at him one last time. He looked small, standing in the doorway of his massive, emptying house.

“You told me last night that my broken arm was terrible timing for your birthday,” I said.