Chapter 21

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It was a windy and rainy night in Long Island. The trees were blowing crazily and it was late in the night. An alarm was sent to everybody as an advisory to not leave their homes until the rain simmered down. One woman, in particular, ignored the alarm and readied herself to leave as soon as she could.

Wayne was laying down on a rolling cart under a car in his driveway. Her car, to be exact. While he primarily knew boats, his father taught him the basics of a car. He toyed with everything until he found it. With quickness, he brought his knife to the cable and gutted it. It hung below, grazing the floor.

The man scooted himself from out under and kicked the cart back into the driveway. The faint light from their bedroom glowed, showing her movements as shadows against the curtains. She had been packing a duffel bag and suitcase, then left the room. He swung the garage door open and stormed through the kitchen, placing the knife into his back pocket. There she was, holding the suitcase's car in one hand and the duffel strap around her shoulder, as she took steps down the stairs.

"I'm staying with Ed until everything is finalized," she said. "If you need Claire to come watch over Gavin, her number is on the table."

"Georgia," Wayne said as he stood in front of the door. "You can't just leave. The storm isn't close to being done."

She marched towards the front door with her suitcase by her side. "I am not the reason I'm leaving." Her eyes pierced through his, putting him into a trance. "Step aside."

The woman in front of him was nothing like the one he married. Back then, she was bubbly, flirty, and confident. That night, she was cold and bitter. Most of it was his fault, but he never took accountability for it, at least to her face.

With a nod, he stepped away from the door and said, "Safe travels, Georgia."

With a grunt, she pulled the suitcase and marched out of the door. She grabbed her keys from the dish by the door. Before stepping out in the rain, she took one last glance at Wayne. The man she loved once, who has caused her pain. She still had a bruise on her arm from their most recent fight on the island. He had his own, but it was nothing compared to any of hers.

Eventually, Georgia got into her car and was long gone. Wayne did not know how far she had gotten. Tracking people was not as easy as it would a decade from then. He just waited. He sat at the kitchen table and began chewing on an apple. With each crunch, he imagined her broken bones.

A half an hour later, the house phone rang. He ripped it off the holder and answered.

"Are you Wayne Alodia?" somebody asked.

"Yes, I am. Who's this?"

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but your wife was in a car crash. Georgia Labin-Alodia. We are bringing her to Memorial Hospital."

"Thank you for telling me. I'll be right there."

Wayne sat in the waiting room for two hours. Georgia had a pulse, but never woke up. Eventually, she went into a cardiac arrest and was not revivable. The doctors attempted cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but they called it after minutes had passed. Her body laid on the cot as a psychiatric doctor approached him, asking him nonsense questions. He wanted to feel pain, or guilt. His wife and the mother of his child were gone and he did not feel anything.

Later that night, he went back home and drank a whole bottle of wine. Along with the note with Claire's number, there was a folder on the table. He opened it and saw the newly printed divorce papers. She had made another copy after he tossed the first one away. Wayne threw it in the shredder, as if divorcing Georgia was even an issue to deal with at that point.

Gavin crying upstairs erupted his thoughts, but he remained in his position. The empty bottle sat on the table, mocking and berating him. As his son cried out for anybody, his hand loosely reached out to throw the rambling thing away. Because his fingers never clasped around it, the bottle fell like a bowling pin. He watched it roll off and towards the floor. The sound was clearing. The glass shattered all over the place. Even with the small piece driven into his ankle, there was nothing. The cries were silenced by his closed off mind.

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