The sun was high but the Chicago air was biting as 9:00 AM rolled around. Morris stood in front of the mirror in his Hyatt suite, pulling on a vibrant yellow sweatsuit that stood out against his dark skin. He laced up his black and yellow sneakers, checking his reflection one last time. He looked like a man who was done hiding in the shadows of someone else's chaos.
He had a tight schedule, and he wasn't about to let Connie's drama derail it.
9:15 AM: The Final Entry
Morris pulled his Ford Escape into the familiar lot of the apartment complex. His heart hammered against his ribs—not out of fear, but out of a desperate need to be finished. He let himself in with his key, half-expecting a confrontation, but the apartment was eerily quiet. Connie was either asleep or out nursing her ego.
He headed straight for the small fireproof safe in the bedroom closet. He didn't look at the bed. He didn't look at the jewelry box he'd filled over a decade. He grabbed exactly what he came for:
* His Birth Certificate
* Social Security Card
* His Medical Record Book (the one filled with notes from those three years of useless fertility tests)
He tucked the folder under his arm and walked out. He didn't leave a note. The silence was his final message.
10:45 AM: The Handover
At the apartment complex office, the air smelled of stale coffee and industrial cleaner. The property manager, a woman with long black braids hanging below her back, caramel skin, hazel eyes, long lashes, red lipstick and black blazer suit with long coffin white nails. She had a face of a model who had seen a thousand breakups in her time, looked up as Morris placed his heavy brass keys on the counter.
"I'm officially surrendering my rights to unit 302," Morris said, his voice steady. "My name is to be removed from the lease effective immediately as per the buyout agreement I signed."
"All set, Mr. Morris," she said, sliding a receipt across the desk. "Good luck with the move."
"Thank you." he muttered, walking back to his SUV. "It's all about the plan."
11:30 AM: O'Hare International Airport
The Ford Escape was parked in the long-term lot. Morris grabbed his single suitcase and his laptop bag, heading toward the terminal. The airport was a sea of moving bodies, but Morris felt like he was the only one standing still.
He checked his green iPhone 17.
25 missed calls from Connie. Three texts.
Connie: "Where are you? Your stuff is still here."
Connie: "Morris, answer me. We need to talk about the rent."
Connie: "Fine. Be a damn coward. Fuck you."
He swiped the notifications away and hit "Block Contact." As he stood in the TSA line, his mind drifted to Wentzville. He thought about the navy blue ranch home, the quiet streets of Missouri, and the $210,480 investment in his own sanity. He was 1 hour and 30 minutes away from leaving his old life at 30,000 feet.