A Different Kind of Independence Day -- Flash Fiction

She waited until he left for work then packed her bag (his bag really, the biggish one with wheels) and called Lyft for a ride to the airport. The $15,000 she got for her car ($14,984 to be exact) wouldn’t last long, but it would have to do.

On the way to the airport, she pulled up flight information on her phone. A new phone completely separate from Martin’s account. Southwest Airlines allowed two free checked bags, but she had only one. One checked bag and one carry-on -- her computer bag -- would be enough to keep up with when she got to her destination.

Her destination? Some place he wouldn’t think of. Not Dallas. Her sister lived in Dallas. Some place he didn’t know she knew anyone. She didn’t know anyone in Jackson, Mississippi, but she didn’t know if Jackson had good public transportation. She needed some place with good public transportation, now that she didn’t have a car.

Minneapolis had good public transportation. She’d been there once. Before she met Martin. Neither she nor her sister had ever been up north. They were in college and it was Fall Break. They first saw Minneapolis just before the sun went down. The sky was clear and the city seemed to rise out of the prairie. All glass and steel, it shone like a beacon marking the end of their journey.

She didn't know anyone in Minneapolis so he'd never think to look there. She entered Minneapolis into the destination box. The cheapest one-way ticket was for a flight leaving at 5:45. Martin wouldn’t be home until six or a little after. She’d be gone.

She entered her credit card number. Her own credit card number from her own account. Not a joint account with Martin. Her first concrete act of defiance. Leaving hadn’t been a real option then. Or, at least, she hadn’t seen it that way. It was just something to think about.

“I want my own money,” she told him. “What if I want to buy you a gift? I don’t want to buy you a gift with your money.”

“But it’s our money. Your check goes in there, too,” he said.

“I’ll just put a little into my account. The rest will continue to go into our account.”

“How much?” he asked.

“Just a hundred a month.”

That satisfied him. Not that his income didn’t easily cover their living expenses, plus. He just didn’t want her to have too much money of her own. He was afraid she’d leave him.

Well, she certainly didn’t have too much money of her own. But it was her own, and she was leaving him.

She should have left months ago. When she realized there was nothing she could do to make it work.

She couldn’t tell when he was going to go off  anymore. Or what it was that would set him off. Mention of a co-worker’s good fortune. Asking him when he’d be home from some meeting or other so she could plan dinner. Complaining about the neighbor’s noisy dog. Things she thought would do it, didn’t. And subjects that it would never occur to her to be dangerous, would be. She had to get out.

When she lied to him about her car being in the shop for a few days, he didn’t lift an eyebrow.

She didn’t tell anyone where she was going. Of course she didn’t know until now. She’d call her parents when she got there. Tell them she was safe. But she wouldn’t tell them where she was. At least not at first. So they couldn’t tell him. Keep them out of it as much as possible.

She’d send Martin an email as the plane was boarding. He’d be on his way home. She was glad they didn’t have children. Or pets. There’d be no one for him to take it out on.

“Thank you,” she said to the Lyft driver.

He set her bag on the curb under the Southwest Airlines sign. She took the bag, the doors opened, and she walked through. Smiling.