He Thought I Was A Broke Housewife, Until I Evicted Him

On that rainy afternoon, I was rummaging through the trunk of Ethan’s car, looking for a spare umbrella.

There were two. One was a large, black golf umbrella that I had bought for him last year. The other was a pastel yellow folding umbrella with a little rubber duck keychain dangling from the handle.

I hate yellow. And I hate keychains. He knew that.

I took the black one and walked to the office in the pouring rain.

At noon, he sent me a message on Snapchat: "There was an umbrella in the trunk. Didn't you see it?"

I replied, "I did. Took the black one."