It was 10 p.m. Fritz said good night to his wife, who was watching TV, and went to bed. Tomorrow was his last day of work after thirty years with the federal government—thirty years of travel, meetings, and heavy briefcases. He had enjoyed his career.
Fritz felt blessed, especially compared to his father, an unskilled laborer who had a tough life. He was grateful for his own good fortune and for being able to provide comfort in his father's final years.
His children were grown with their own careers. His wife, Paige, was active in her bridge club, though Fritz preferred his Friday night poker group.
On his final Friday, colleagues took him to lunch and later held a farewell gathering with gifts, including a large U.S. atlas. He had shared plans to spend the next few years traveling with Paige to see all the places he'd missed while on business. As a final gesture, his supervisor told him to take the rest of the day off.
Returning home, Paige's car was gone. He assumed she was shopping for travel clothes or planning a special dinner. However, upon entering the bedroom, he found her side of the closet half-empty.
An envelope on the lamp stand contained two documents: official divorce papers and a handwritten note from Paige. She apologized, explaining her lawyer advised waiting until this day to secure fifty percent of Fritz's pension. She wrote of her guilt but concluded, "I can't ignore my own heart."
Fritz sat motionless on the bed, the note in his hand. About an hour later, the phone rang. It was Bob, calling to ask if Fritz was still coming to poker that night.