Chapter Two: The Performance

Kelly was curled on the couch when he walked in.

Laptop open. Probably scrolling through the divorce forums she thought he didn’t know about. She looked up, and Ernest caught it — the briefest flash of annoyance before she rearranged her face into something resembling concern.

“You’re home early.”

Same words as two weeks ago. Same hollow delivery.

Ernest set his briefcase down. Made sure his movements looked heavy. Defeated.

“Kelly, we need to talk. Something happened at work today.”

She closed her laptop. He saw the weariness in her eyes. Not worry. Weariness. The exhaustion of pretending.

“What is it?”

“I got fired.”

He let his voice crack slightly. Sold the performance with a tremble he didn’t have to fake — not from sadness, but from the sick anticipation of what came next.

“They called me into HR this morning. Budget cuts. They’re eliminating my entire department. I’m out effective immediately.”

For one split second, Kelly’s face went completely blank.

Then came the emotions in rapid succession. Shock. Confusion. And something else — something that looked almost like panic.

“You — you got fired?”

Her voice pitched higher. The way it always did when she was lying.

“But you’ve been there for six years. How can they just —”

“It doesn’t matter how they can,” Ernest interrupted. “The point is, it’s done. We’re going to have to make some serious changes, Kelly.”

He watched her face drain of color.

“I’ve got maybe three months of severance. Then we’re living on your yoga income and whatever unemployment I can get. We might have to sell the townhouse. Move somewhere cheaper.”

Sell the house.

He saw her calculate. Saw her subtract square footage and neighborhood prestige from the life she’d planned to leave behind.

“And that investment account I have?” Ernest pressed on. “I’m probably going to need to drain it to cover expenses while I look for a new job. The market’s terrible right now for marketing positions. Could take six months or more.”

Kelly stood up abruptly.

“I need to — I need to process this. This is a lot.”

“I know it’s a shock. I’m pretty devastated myself.”

She nodded. But she wasn’t looking at him anymore.

Her eyes had that distant, calculating look. The one he’d seen more and more lately.

“I’m going to call Jessica. I just need to talk to someone. Is that okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

She grabbed her phone and hurried upstairs.

Ernest waited thirty seconds. Then he climbed the stairs on silent feet and positioned himself outside the bedroom door.

His phone kept recording in his pocket.

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