Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys

I took the thick blue folder from under my arm and laid it in the exact center of the table.
Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small silver key ring, the one Ryan had taken from my purse weeks ago.
I laid the keys down beside the blue folder, their metal surface catching the last pale light coming through the window.
The house was completely silent, except for the distant sound of a car turning onto the main road three blocks away.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the papers that would change everything when Ryan walked through the door on Friday.
I did not leave a note.
I turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving the thick blue folder resting on the empty kitchen table.
The heavy vibration of his truck engine rattled the kitchen window glass just as I reached the back screen door. I did not run to the driveway, and I did not hide behind the pantry. I simply stood on the small wooden landing of the back porch, the screen door slightly ajar, listening as his footsteps moved from the front hallway into the living room.