Chapter 2
The ride back home was filled with silence. No one wanted to acknowledge that I had just been pushed to my death.
The man who saved me said nothing and had just left without a word, like a shadow, but only after chilling glare that made Hank shiver.
The car rolled to a stop in front of our apartment building. My body ached from being dragged across the asphalt, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in my
chest.
‘You should’ve been more careful,” Hank said, breaking the silence. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel. “You shouldn’t have pissed me off, and it wasn’t that hard of a push. You were just being dramatic.”
stared at him, mouth slightly open. The audacity of this man was breathtaking. He’d literally pushed me into oncoming traffic, and now he was blaming me?
‘Dramatic?” I scoffed. “I almost died, Hank.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what you get.” His voice was cold, detached. “For being jealous. For acting like the world owes you something.”
Lola sat quietly in the back seat, her birthday cake smeared across the front of my blouse. She caught my eye in the rearview mirror and gave me, a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘I’ll be back after I drop Lola off, Hank said as I opened the car door.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As soon as the car pulled away, I walked straight to our apartment, my movements mechanical. No tears came. Instead, a strange calm washed over
- me.
Inside, I went directly to our bedroom and pulled out my suitcase from under the bed. I grabbed armfuls of clothes from the closet–only the ones I’d bought myself. Nothing he’d given me. Nothing with memories attached.
I called my father while I packed, telling him I’m ready.
After hanging up, I continued packing methodically. Passport, important documents, jewelry that was mine before Hank. Nothing tainted by our relationship would come with me.
When everything was packed, I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my phone. I needed to distract myself for some time, I needed to rest. I opened Instagram and scrolled mindlessly until Lola’s profile appeared.
She’d just posted. I tapped on her story and froze.
There she was with Hank. Not just one photo–dozens. Some from today, some from months ago. In one, she was pressing her back against his groin, his hands on her waist. In another, they were kissing in what looked like his office.
I laughed. I actually laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Then I saw it–the necklace. My necklace. The one my uncle–Lola’s father–had given me when I graduated college. It was unique, custom–made, with a small emerald pendant. And there it was, hanging around Lola’s neck in her latest post.
ΔΙΑ 5.0
2:34 am G
The caption read: “Hank gave back what’s rightfully mine from a thief.”
I scoffed and chuckled, shaking my head. The nerve of this woman. Without thinking, I tapped the heart icon, liking the post. Let them know I’d seen it. Let them know I didn’t care.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and moved to the dresser. In the bottom drawer, wrapped in silk, was a bundle of letters–every love letter Hank had written me over our six years together.
I unwrapped them and began reading each one.
“You’re the only woman I’ll ever love…”
“I can’t imagine my life without you…”
“Forever and always, only you…”
With each letter, my laughter grew. The lies were so obvious now, so transparent. How had I been so blind?
I carried the stack to the fireplace in our living room. One by one, I fed them to the flames, watching the paper curl and blacken. The fire felt cleansing, purifying.
The door burst open. Hank rushed in, his eyes wild when he saw what I was doing.
“What the hell are you doing, Monica?” He lunged forward, grabbing the remaining letters from my hand.
“I felt a bit cold,” I said calmly. “Just running the fireplace.”
“Have you gone mad?” His face was red with anger. “You ruined Lola’s birthday today and now this? These are our memories, Monica.”
I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “You gave my necklace to her. She can have these as well.”
Hank’s jaw clenched. “How immature can you be? Can you for once stop throwing tantrums and be mature?”
I looked at him–really looked at him. This man who had pushed me into traffic. This man who had cheated on me with my cousin for years. This man who had the audacity to blame me for his actions.
I laughed again, but it was different this time. Lighter. Freer.
“Yeah,” I said, pausing to meet his gaze directly. “I’m done. This is the last time you’ll have to deal with it.”
