Chapter 6 - The Empty NestForty-eight hours later, Trevor’s flight touched down at O'Hare International Airport.
He looked like a man who had aged ten years in a week. His hair was disheveled, his designer suit was wrinkled from a hurried coach-ticket redeye flight, and his eyes were bloodshot from panic.
He didn't wait for a cab; he rented a car at the terminal and drove straight to our suburban street in Chicago like a madman, blowing through a yellow light three blocks from our house.
He slammed on the brakes in the driveway, throwing the rental car into park.
He jumped out, sprinting up the steps, pulling his house keys from his pocket. He jammed the key into the front door lock.
It didn’t turn.
He tried again. Harder.
The lock had been changed.
“Open up!” Trevor roared, pounding his fist against the mahogany wood. “Naomi! Open the damn door!”
A neighbor three doors down stepped out onto their porch, holding a leaf blower, and stared at him with undisguised contempt. Trevor ignored them, hammering on the door until his knuckles bruised.
Finally, the door swung open.
It wasn't Naomi.
It was a tall, imposing man in a sharp charcoal suit holding a clipboard. Marcus.
Trevor recoiled, his face flushing a violent shade of crimson. “What the hell are you doing in my house? Where is my wife? Where is my daughter?”
Marcus didn’t flinch. He looked at Trevor the way a scientist might look at an interesting, yet deeply repulsive, laboratory specimen.
“Your house, Trevor?” Marcus asked smoothly, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door firmly behind him. “Let me correct you right there. This is Naomi’s house. Solely.”
Trevor let out a frantic, hysterical laugh. “Are you out of your mind? I pay the mortgage! I bought this place!”
“Not anymore,” Marcus said, handing him a thick packet of legal documents. “Signatures were notarized on Friday. Asset transfer complete. You’re currently trespassing.”
Trevor snatched the papers, his eyes scanning the lines of legal jargon. Words like Emergency Injunction, Marital Dissolution, Sole Custody, and Restraining Order danced across the page like a horror movie script.
“No,” Trevor choked out, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “No, no, no. This is a joke. Naomi wouldn't... she doesn't have the spine for this.”
“You spent eight years convincing yourself she was weak, Trevor,” Marcus said, stepping down the porch stairs past him. “Turns out, you just never gave her a reason to be strong.”
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Marcus got into a sleek black SUV parked at the curb, rolled down the window, and gave Trevor a cool, mocking salute before driving away.
Trevor stood alone on the front porch, the autumn wind biting through his wrinkled shirt, staring at a house that was completely, terrifyingly empty.
