By morning, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started planning my next move.
I LAY AWAKE LISTENING TO TRAFFIC RUMBLE PAST ON THE HIGHWAY.
Stage one started with my morning coffee.
I balanced the paper cup of vending-machine coffee on the windowsill and took a photo.
Behind it, the parking lot overflowed with trash — crushed soda cans, a broken chair, something dark and unidentifiable near the dumpster.
A little noisier than I’m used to, but I’m making it work, I captioned it.
I tagged him and Lorraine.
IT STARTED WITH MY MORNING COFFEE.
An hour later, I noticed a roach skitter across the bathroom floor while I was getting ready for work. It moved fast, confident in its territory.
I didn’t scream or try to swat it.
I took a picture.
Trying to be respectful of my roommates, I wrote. They were here first.
I posted that too.
I NOTICED A ROACH SKITTER ACROSS THE BATHROOM FLOOR.
My posts continued on the second day — still calm, still relentlessly honest.
See, I’d decided to push back against Jake and Lorraine’s attempts to hide me away by refusing to be hidden.
I had other plans in motion too, but this was the most crucial part.
I posted a photo of a thin sleeping bag I’d laid carefully on top of the bed, because I couldn’t bring myself to touch the comforter.
I think I’ll sleep better this way, I captioned it.
I COULDN’T BRING MYSELF TO TOUCH THE COMFORTER.
I posted a picture I’d taken the previous day of the window at dusk, neon lights flickering outside, casting strange shadows across the water-stained ceiling.
Free entertainment.🕺
I then shared a shot of a small patch of green pushing through a crack beneath the sink, stubborn and alive despite everything.
I have an indoor plant! 🥹
My phone lit up constantly after that.
I SHARED A SHOT OF A SMALL PATCH OF GREEN PUSHING THROUGH A CRACK BENEATH THE SINK.
People were starting to take notice.
Questions from friends, coworkers, and people I hadn’t spoken to in years filled the comment sections.
“Are you okay?”
“Is this temporary?”
“Why are you there?”
“You don’t deserve this.”
PEOPLE WERE STARTING TO TAKE NOTICE.
I started to type out answers, but what would I say? That my husband chose his mother’s comfort over my dignity?
It stung too much to put down in words.
I still hadn’t heard a peep from Jake or Lorraine.
That soon changed.
I STARTED TO TYPE OUT ANSWERS, BUT WHAT WOULD I SAY?
Jake sent me a text late that night.
You really didn’t have to post all that. It’s just one week.
I stared at the screen, then set the phone facedown on the nightstand, where it buzzed once more and went quiet.
That was when I knew I’d have to move to stage two of my plan.
He’d left me no other choice.
