"James?"
The only reply was the clatter of a chair being swept back. I ran into the kitchen. My chest rising and falling rapidly, cold sweat prickling in the palms of my hands.
"James?" I repeated, this time my voice was a broken whisper. Fear was crawling through my veins as I called his name a third time.
A clunking sound came from the hallway.
I stepped out of the kitchen, moving as soundlessly as possible.
Light footsteps on the landing.
I dumped my tea down the sink, watching its boiling white-brown liquid turn the grey hued water bright orange. At the second floor, a series of booms shook the hole.
There was movement in my stomach, the churning pain of knowing that I had just ruined you must have been something like panic.
I twisted the tap off and gingerly pushed a cup back under the cold cone of water.
"Hello, love." It wasn't a plea, but a statement about to end in a question.
"James, I want to make a change in our relationship."
I looked into the stream of your words, wishing there was a way to take them back. A way to just erase them from the air. A way to let them remain preserved in glass rather than seem chance-ridden.
My hands shook as I twisted the faucet back on.
"I want new things, old things, I can't do this any more."
I washed the cup, my hands never moving quite fast enough. I was trying to make a change, but I had changed a long time ago, I was just trying to make a new one.
You could tell by the water, it was neither hot nor cold. The cup rattled the tines as I set it down on the draining board.
"I am not happy. I can't watch you anymore. I have things I want to do, things I want to see. I want to see the world before I have to grow old. And I want to grow old without you."
The roaring was almost drowned out.
"I can't do this anymore."
"I need space, James, I need peace, I need time. I want to do the things I want without you holding me back."
I turned off the tap, drawing the room's stale air more in.
"I want us to be the old us, love. I want us to be the old us because I don't want you, I want me. I am sorry I made you feel the things I made you feel. I am sorry that there are things I haven't told you, there are things that I don't want to tell you. I just want to get them out. I just want to tell you."
"I have to do this. I have to have this. I have to tell you why."
That's when I knew that it was the end of our marriage. That this was not just another argument. This was no domestic dispute; this was a final confrontation. Even so, I tried to pacify you.
"What do you want to tell me that you can't tell me here?"
I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go out on the road with you. I didn't want to go to your house. I didn't want to go anywhere without you.
"You always said you wanted the old us, James, you never gave me time to say anything."
I turned to you, desperately hoping that the thing you wanted to tell me was something I wanted to hear.
"You never gave me time to open up."
I was too late.
"I feel like you never gave me a chance to tell you who I really was."
I reached out a hand towards you.
"I want to tell you who I am."
You moved a step back.
"I want to show you who I am."
Another step.
"I want to show you that I am worth the change. Even if I don't have a baby hood to cover it. Even if I never have another home. I just need a change."
You walked right past me, strode up the stairs and into the guest room.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
The sound reverberated around the house. You were emptying your small bag.
I stood there on the landing, not knowing what to do and unable to make any movement. You had made your decision, I was just standing there. I stood there and I cried.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
It felt like the contractions were coming.
