I stood there completely frozen.
Then Lauren appeared from the kitchen.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re home.”
I stared at the bags.
“What happened?”
She shrugged.
“We needed the space.”
“The space?”
She sighed.
“Your things were taking up half the house.”
I picked up one of the bags.
Inside were my military uniforms, mixed together with old shoes and papers.
I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were busy,” she replied.
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
For nine months, I had called her whenever I could.
I had sent photographs.
I had asked about the house.
Every time, she told me everything was fine.
Now I discovered that while I was overseas, she had apparently decided that my belongings were no longer welcome.
Then I noticed something else.
My office was empty.
The desk was gone.
The computer was gone.
