Chapter 2 Her Mind Already Made Up

His hand stopped an inch from the pen.

Alphonsus stared at the blank signature line, at Vivian's decisive cursive written in blue ink above his empty space.

The pen was waiting. Everything was waiting for him to finish what she'd started.

He picked up the pen. His fingers were numb. He uncapped it. The smell of ink filled the small space between him and the table.

He looked at the name printed on the form again. Alphonsus Mark Jameson. His full name, formal and final, like something from a legal notice or a court summons. He set the pen down without signing.

Instead, he picked up the envelope and walked to the bedroom.

He placed it on the nightstand, on his side of the bed, and then he lay down on top of the covers fully clothed.

He stared at the ceiling and listened to the apartment settle around him.

The hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of traffic outside. The silence where his wife used to be.

He didn't sleep.

At some point, he couldn't tell if it was midnight or three in the morning, he heard Vivian's car pull back into the parking lot.

His body tensed. He waited for her key in the lock, for her footsteps, for her to come into the bedroom and see that he was awake.

The front door opened quietly. Her footsteps moved through the apartment, light and deliberate. She was being careful not to wake him.

He listened to her move through the living room, heard a drawer open in the kitchen, and heard papers rustling.

Looking for something. Finding it. Leaving again. The car started. The parking lot was empty again.

Alphonsus got up and walked to the kitchen.

The envelope was gone from the table.

She'd taken the divorce papers with her. He sat in the dark for another hour, then showered, dressed, and drove to his warehouse job.

The warehouse started at 6 AM. Alphonsus arrived at 5:50, clocked in at 5:55, and was on the loading dock by 6:02.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a gray, sickly tone.

Around him, the other workers moved boxes from pallets to trucks or from trucks to pallets, depending on whether it was a shipping day or a receiving day. Today was receiving day.

Marcus Webb, the warehouse supervisor, was a thick man in his fifties who'd worked his way up from the ground level and made sure everyone knew it. He had a permanent red face and a voice that seemed designed to carry across the entire building.

"Jameson!" he called when Alphonsus started toward his station. "Come here."

Alphonsus changed direction. Around him, the other workers kept moving. Nobody looked at him. This was a ritual in the warehouse. When Marcus called someone over, the rest of them learned not to watch.

"You were supposed to move pallets seventeen through twenty-three to the north section yesterday," Marcus said.

He wasn't holding paperwork or showing him anything specific, which meant he wasn't entirely sure about the accusation. "They're still in the south section."

"I moved pallets seventeen through twenty-two," Alphonsus said carefully. "I ran out of time before my shift ended, and I left a note on the dock for the night crew to move twenty-three."

"I didn't see a note."

"I left it on the supervisor's clipboard."

Marcus's face got redder. "Don't tell me what you did and didn't do. I'm telling you what didn't get done

Pallet twenty-three is supposed to be in the north section, and it's not. Now it's taking up space where it shouldn't be, and we're behind on inventory."

Around them, the warehouse had gone quiet. The other workers were listening while pretending not to listen.

"I apologize," Alphonsus said. "I'll move it right now."

"You're damn right you will." Marcus stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough so that only Alphonsus could hear it. "And you're staying late to finish the work you didn't do yesterday. No overtime pay. You'll count it as your shift time."

That was illegal. Alphonsus knew it was illegal. Not paying overtime for time worked over eight hours was a clear violation.

But he also knew that arguing about it would get him fired, and he couldn't afford to be fired.

"Understood," Alphonsus said. He went to pallet twenty-three and started moving it toward the north section.

The pallet was heavy, at least four hundred pounds of merchandise. His body was running on no sleep and pure adrenaline.

His shoulders burned after the first fifteen minutes. His back started to ache by the twenty-minute mark.

Nobody helped him. That was another unspoken rule. If you were being punished by Marcus, the other workers kept their distance.

At 2:30 PM, Alphonsus's phone buzzed in his locker.

He'd left it there during the shift because Marcus didn't allow phones on the warehouse floor. At 2:45, it buzzed again. At 3:00, it buzzed a third time. During his ten-minute break, he checked it.

Vivian had texted: "Call me when you get a break." Then: "It's important. Call me."

Then she'd called twice and it had gone to voicemail. His heart rate spiked. Something was wrong. Was it his mother? Has something happened to his sister?

He called her back immediately.

"Why didn't you answer?" She didn't wait for a greeting.

"I was working. What happened? Is it...?"

"We need to talk tonight. Come home at six o'clock."

"Vivian, what's wrong? Is my mother...?"

"Nothing's wrong with your mother. I called her this morning and she's fine.

But we need to finish this. Sign the papers, Alphonsus. Stop making this difficult. Come home at six; let's get this over with."

"I can't leave work at six. I'm staying up late today. I won't be done until..."

"Then I guess you need to work it out with your supervisor," she said, and her voice was steady, controlled, and completely without sympathy. "Six o'clock, Alphonsus. Be there."

She hung up.

He stood in the break room holding the phone, staring at the time. 3:07 PM. His shift was supposed to end at 4 PM, but Marcus had told him to stay late, unpaid overtime for work he supposedly didn't complete yesterday. He looked at the clock again.

He had fifty-three minutes before he was supposed to be home signing divorce papers.

He walked back to the warehouse floor and found Marcus reviewing a clipboard near the loading dock.

"I need to leave at four," Alphonsus said.

Marcus didn't look up from the clipboard. "I told you to stay late."

"I have an emergency. I have to leave at four."

Now Marcus looked at him. His face darkened.

"So that pallet wasn't actually an emergency when you were the one responsible for it being in the wrong place?"

The other workers had stopped moving. Everyone was watching now.

"I need to leave," Alphonsus repeated quietly.

"Then leave, and don't come back tomorrow," Marcus said. "You want to be unreliable? Fine. I'll find someone who actually needs the job."

Alphonsus felt something cold move through his chest. He needed this job.

He needed the money. But he also needed to know what Vivian wanted to finish at six o'clock. Was she ending the marriage? Finalizing something? Asking for something from him?

He looked at Marcus. At the clipboard. At the warehouse full of people who were pretending not to watch him make a decision that would either keep him employed or send him home.

"I'm out of here," Alphonsus said. He walked off the warehouse floor without waiting for a response.