Chapter 33
The second Daniel leaves, I pack a bag and head to Anna’s.
I know it’s only a matter of time before Zayn shows up at my apartment to finish our conversation. I don’t know where I stand with him at the moment, if he even wants to continue whatever it is developing between us, but Daniel’s taken that decision out of both our hands regardless.
I can’t see Zayn until I figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.
I can’t go back to Daniel. Not even all the therapy money can buy could erase the past. But I can’t leave my family to ruin, either.
So whatever way I look at it, I’m fucked.
“You should tell Zayn what’s going on,” Anna says from beside me on her couch. “He’s a lawyer, he might be able to help with the situation.”
“He might not want to help me anymore.”
I told Anna everything when I called her home from work and showed up on her doorstep with a bag.
All about my years with Daniel. The assault.
The meeting and what followed at my apartment.
My head might feel heavy with emotional exhaustion, but my heart somehow feels lighter.
She held me and we cried together, and that’s the best therapy I could ever get.
The unwavering support of my best friend is priceless.
“We both know that’s not true,” she scolds gently, blowing on her tea. I stare down into my own steaming cup, my legs tucked away underneath me. I’ve had time to think since I left Zayn’s office.
“I know. He loves me.”
“That he does.”
I take a deep breath and glance up at her. “He’ll offer me the money to help my family,” I say with conviction. “He’ll do anything to free me from Daniel. I can’t let him do that.”
Anna just nods, her face blank in that way I know too well. She’s trying hard to think of a solution. I reach out and squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asks, her brows furrowing. The fact she doesn’t even know that she’s doing it just speaks to her character. Daniel might have looked down on Anna, but he never deserved to have her in his life.
“Just for being you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Psshh.” She waves me off. “Did you confirm Daniel’s story with your dad?”
My heart sinks as I show her the message I sent to Tony the second Daniel left.
Gianna: Did Daniel lend you half a million dollars for your business?
Tony: Yes. Why?
Anna curses and I chuck my phone on the couch, swallowing down my irritation at being kept in the dark about the transaction.
That old, familiar feeling that the tapestry of my life is once again being weaved by the key players around me overshadows my thoughts, trying to suffocate me.
I tip my head back against the couch, a migraine forming behind my eyes.
“You can’t go back to that fucking bastard. There has to be another way.”
“I’m all ears.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, both pondering how I can dig myself out of this shitty situation, when my phone vibrates on the cushion between us.
“It’s Zayn.”
We both watch as it rings out, stops for a moment, then rings again. He calls ten times before a text message comes through.
Zayn: Where are you?
“I can’t tell him where I am because he’ll come here.”
My heart rattles against my ribcage at the thought of him searching for me. Turning up here. I don’t know what to tell him. Don’t know how to turn him away without telling him why.
When I don’t respond, he sends another text.
Zayn: Fine. Just let me know that you’re safe.
Gianna: I’m safe.
I’ve been at Anna’s for three days.
I haven’t answered any of Zayn’s calls. I’ve swapped all my shifts at work so Zayn doesn’t know when I’ll be there. I’ve been on edge all day today at Hope House but thankfully, Zayn hasn’t shown up.
He’s probably figured out where I’m staying but is giving me my space. I’ve thrown myself into my studies and am trying to forget that my life, which I thought I finally had together, is crumbling down around me.
I think about Zayn constantly.
I finish planning the Hope House fundraiser, which is taking place next Saturday night. Confirming vendors, donors and attendees for the gala has kept me busy, and there’s a contagious buzz around Hope House between Sam and the counsellors at the money that has already started trickling in.
Last night, I reached out to a social media influencer that used to date one of Daniel’s teammates, who I bonded with over a wardrobe malfunction in a women’s restroom at the Brownlow Medal award night.
She was enthusiastic about supporting Hope House and posted our donation website to her social media platforms, raising a staggering ten thousand dollars from her followers in under twenty-four hours.
When Sam is alerted to the funds in the Hope House account, he picks me up in a bear hug and swings me around the cottage, much to the amusement of everyone there.
None more than little Hudson and Hattie who squeal with joy when Sam has fifteen ice-cream sundaes delivered from McDonalds to celebrate.
“You could have splurged on Baskin and Robbins.” I nudge him with my knee while I wolf down my hot fudge with a flake.
We all sit around the living room, some of the girls are wedged into the limited couch space and some, like Sam and I, are spread out on the floor.
There’re smiles and laughter and light-hearted banter bouncing off the walls, a rare moment of bliss blanketed over the house.
He gives me the most ‘Sam’ look I’ve ever seen and points at me with his plastic spoon.
“Gianna, that money needs to be used wisely. We need new beds, better security on the windows, an upgrade on the hot water system, not to mention-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I chuckle, cutting off his lecture before it can take flight. “I’m joking.”
He lowers his own sundae, his expression turning earnest. “You’ve done well, Gianna. We were already lucky to have you. Now you’ve really gone above and beyond.”
I glance around the room and my heart swells at the sight of the women we’re helping here. The ones who aren’t lucky enough to have family or friends to fall back on, but who become family inside these four walls.
“Funny that. I feel like the lucky one.”
He pats me on the knee and we finish our sundaes while discussing the final arrangements for next weekend.
“Promise me one thing,” I say to Sam before he stands to head back into his office. “That you’ll use some of the money to buy yourself a new suit. If you show up to the fundraiser in that ugly brown thing you wore to Beth’s court hearing I’ll have security turn you away.”
I dodge the empty sundae cup that he flicks in my direction, but don’t miss his bright smile as he ambles away.
“You know who would be a great recruit to promote Hope House?” I say to Anna the next evening, my laptop open on my lap as I sit cross-legged on her couch.
“Who?” she asks, stirring the veggies she has sautéeing on the stove.
“Mindy Baines. You know, the girl we went to school with? She’s an author now, I’ve read a few of her books. Some of them have touched on domestic violence.”
Anna stops stirring and turns to face me, placing a hand on her hip.
“You know, I got a Facebook invitation for our ten year high school reunion. I think it’s on tomorrow night, but I wasn’t going to go. Should I check if she’s RSVP’d?”
“Yes!” I respond, sitting up taller. Then I slump as a thought crosses my mind. Anna notices.
“I don’t think you have to worry about either Zayn or Daniel turning up to the reunion.
Could you see either of them at the local pub having a drink with old classmates?
” She laughs. “Daniel’s ego is too big to fit in the front door, and Zayn didn’t interact with anyone at school other than us and Percy. ”
The truth of her words sinks in while she opens up the invite. She’s right, I don’t think the risk of running into either of them there is high.
“Yes! It says she’s attending!”
I beam at Anna and ignore the pang I felt when she mentioned Zayn’s name. I’d received another text from him this morning.
Zayn: Please, Gianna. I need to talk to you.
As I still have no clue what to say to Zayn or how to rectify the situation, I ignored it. I know I’m on borrowed time. Both Zayn and Daniel will seek me out eventually, but I guess I’ll deal with that when the time comes.
“Why do I feel like we’re Romy and Michele heading into their high school reunion?” Anna laughs as we step through the front doors of the Lucky Hat.
“Probably because we watched it the other night, and also because you styled us in near matching outfits,” I respond, referring to our practically identical long sleeve top and skirt combos.
Except where Anna wears knee-high boots, I have on a pair of strappy nude heels.
“Just don’t tell anyone we invented post-its. ”
“Fine. Which one of us gets the millionaire at the end of the night?”
“You, please,” I tell her, spotting a sign near a sectioned off area of the pub labelled ‘Hillmouth Reunion’. I point Anna in that direction and follow behind her. “Last time I slept with a millionaire he ended up being my lost love. I don’t need that kind of drama right now.”
“I’ll be happy to oblige then,” she responds, checking her phone as we pull up to the bar. We’ve barely taken a sip of our martinis before a group of old friends approach us and we spend the next half hour catching up on each other’s lives since leaving school.
Anna is the only friend I kept in touch with after high school ended.
No one even seems to know that Daniel and I got married, because if they did, I most definitely would have been asked about him by now.
The best part of not having social media, I would say.
Sometimes it would irk me that Daniel never allowed me to have it, but now that I’m going through a divorce that has the potential to make front page news, I’m relieved for the anonymity.