I couldn’t do it. It made no sense, hurting myself to hurt her.
That was the moment, as I returned the razor to my backpack and looked in the mirror. The moment I realized that I would no longer submit to her choices, that I would make my own decisions, that I would be the person I wanted to be, that I would fight her tooth and nail if necessary.I’m Allison fuckin’ Rankin, I said to the mirror then.I control who I am. Nobody else.
It was, in many ways, the best day of my life. In others, the worst.
I blink out of my thoughts and meet my own gaze again. My throat tightens.Alone.The word feels both terrifying and inevitable—like it was waiting for me, lurking outside the frame of every mirror I’ve ever faced. My mother’s prophecy, fulfilled.
“Screw that,” I say to the mirror. “I’m Allison fuckin’ Rankin.”
I draw a deep breath. Terrifying, yes, this emptiness, but off in the distance is something better, full of possibility or, if nothing else, real. I’ve spun my wheels for years. There’s something liberating about clawing out of the ditch, even if the road ahead is unknown.
Time for my morning walk. First, I send Grayson his daily note:The biggest mistake you can make is being what others would have you be, rather than being yourself.
My phone buzzes with a text message, but it’s not Grayson responding, as he sometimes does. It’s Fin:I still love you. With all my heart.
I pull on my top, long-sleeved and insulated, zipping it up to my neck.
Another text:Doesn’t that count for anything?
It doesn’t count for enough.A marriage needs more than love, I reply, but my thumb hovers over the send button. Do I really want to engageright now? He can tell I’m typing, no doubt, from the bubbles, but I decide against sending it. Let him stare at bubbles for a while.
Meanwhile, the messages keep coming.
19 years of marriage doesn’t count for anything?
I’ll do anything. Just give me another chance.
I tuck in my earbuds and turn on music on my phone. Sometimes I go for upbeat and motivating. Today, I’m looking for chill and zen.
As I look at my phone, I notice a text message I received from my bank, Grace Community Bank, in the middle of the night:
GC Acct 4117: The $50,000 transfer to FIRST FEDERAL on Mar 19, 2026 at 3:49 am is greater than the $200 in your Alerts settings.
What? Someone transferred $50,000 from my savings account in the middle of the night?
I jump onto my bank’s app and pull up recent transactions. Currently pending is a $50,000 transfer to an account at First Federal. Finley. He’s probably worried about money, as if I would cut him off. As if I legallycouldcut him off.
And since when does he have an account at First Federal? When did he open a separate account at a different bank? Had he been planning for this breakup?
I go back on the app and cancel the transfer, which my bank quickly confirms:
GC Acct 4117: The $50,000 transfer to FIRST FEDERAL on Mar 19, 2026 at 3:49 am has been CANCELED. The availability of these funds may be affected by this transaction.
Meanwhile, the text messages from Finley continue:
Don’t give up on me.
We can make this work. I know we can.
Say something, please!!
If only he devoted a fraction of this energy to our marriage.
At work, I sit at my desk, the blinds cracked just enough to let in a thin blade of midday light. The office is quiet, the hum of the city just beyond the glass.
I text Luke with the news.Sorry to hear that, he replies.Or not sorry??
That about covers it. Yet another text from Finley:You canceled the money transfer?
