I don’t say anything to Scott when I get home that night.  I just head straight up to my bedroom, ignoring his nasty remarks as I walk past, and get ready for bed.  My bike will be ready to go tomorrow, just as soon as I get things sorted out with the insurance company, and renew my motorcycle license that I’d gotten years ago.

I’ve had it.  So many times in these last few days, my father’s words run through my mind, and after really thinking about it, I realize that he had seen what I hadn’t.  All these years, I have been wasting my time and energy on a marriage that’s unhappy on a good day, in a city away from everyone I love, and on a job that doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.  Why hadn’t I seen it before?  On the way home from the Harley shop, I had devised my plan, and first thing in the morning, I was going to put it into action.

I wake up, full of excitement.  Scott’s side of the bed is unslept on, which means he’d spent the night on the couch … again.  He’d already left for work and the house is empty.  I look at the clock and realize that I am due to be at work in an hour.  I reach for the phone and tap in the number.  Just before I hit send, I bite my lip and take a look around my bedroom.  Am I sure I want to do this?  If I do, there’ll be no going back.

My eyes wander across the room until they land on the laundry hamper, or more importantly, what’s in front of it.  There, on the floor, scattered around the base of the hamper are Scott’s dirty underwear and discarded socks.  For years I’ve been on his case to put them in the hamper, and still they never quite make it there.  But God forbid I forget to make the bed in the morning.  Scott likes his bed neatly made when he gets into it.

It’s completely crazy that something as silly as underwear on the floor is what makes up my mind, but that is all it takes for me to see that things are never going to change.  Scott will always be an asshole, and I will always be pissed off about that.  I don’t know if he was an asshole in the beginning and I just didn’t see it, or if I’m the reason he’s so angry.  Regardless, I can’t do it anymore.

Stabbing at the green button, I listen to the ringing on the opposite end until someone picks up.  “Hello?  Greenfield Estates, this is Susan speaking.  How may I help you?”

Susan.  My supervisor, and another person who makes my life miserable.  I’m suddenly very happy to say what I have to say.  “Hi, Susan.  It’s Holly.  I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be in to work today, or ever again.”

“Wh … but you—you’re quitting?” she stammers.  I don’t know why she cares.  This bitch has been riding my ass at every available opportunity.  It’s no secret that she hates me, almost as much as I hate her.

“I am.  I will call in a week or two with a forwarding address for you to send my paperwork.  Thank you, Susan.  Have a fantastic day.”  I get off the phone and I can’t contain the giggle that bursts from my throat.  God, that had felt good.  That bitch will be pissed for weeks, because I never gave her a chance to get in one of her condescending digs.

With that out of the way, I head into the bathroom and take a shower.  It doesn’t take me long to get myself ready for the day, pausing only long enough to figure out what I want to wear on this first day of being the new me.  I dig out a pair of jeans that I haven’t worn in ages, grab one of the Harley shirts my dad had gotten me for Christmas a few years ago, and decide to buy myself a nice leather jacket when I go to pick up my bike.

I pack a small duffel bag, including only enough clothes for a few days—my toiletries and a few pictures of my family—and then call a taxi.  Just before I walk out the door, I remove my engagement ring and wedding band, and place them gently in the center of a small dish on top of the fireplace mantle.  Without looking back, I step out of the house, locking the door behind me.  Time to go pick up my new ride.