CHAPTER 1 #3
She carried the suitcase past him and down the stairs without another word.
Reaching ground level, she scanned to see if she wanted anything else.
Nothing. There wasn’t one piece of her life in this place she wanted to keep.
The things she cared about, her colorful Depression glass from her grandmother, a couple of old family pictures, and the flowers her grandmother had painted had been declared too tacky for their new home.
They were in storage with most of her books, and she could get them later.
It was as if she was seeing the living space of the townhouse for the first time.
The dull, brick red accent walls and otherwise stark black and white decor.
The lack of bookshelves. She cringed as the place assaulted her eyes, and she blocked it out, the way she always did.
It contained nothing soft. Nothing feminine or pretty.
Nothing soothing. Everything in their house screamed Adam.
Why hadn’t she spoken up about how much she hated it?
Her vision blurred as she neared the door, tears almost overwhelming her eyes.
Somehow, she held them in. She only had a matter of minutes until she wouldn’t be able to cope.
This second confrontation had been too much, leaving her on the brink of overload.
She couldn’t let Adam see this particular meltdown.
Clinging to her last shred of dignity, she grabbed her jacket and jammed her feet into her sneakers.
She collected her hiking shoes, slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, and yanked the door open.
Without warning, Adam stood in her way, wearing pants at last. Her muscles tightened, and her free hand balled into a fist. She’d love to hit him, though, of course, she wouldn’t.
“Anna, you’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked.” He snatched her keys from her hand and backed into the living room.
How dare he? A fog of anger gave her a few more seconds of strength.
Tiffany sidled past, now fully dressed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I don’t want him. He’s all yours.” Anna meant every word.
Tiffany fled, scuttling to her car down the block, leaving the front door ajar in her haste.
Anna turned. “My keys. Now.” Her voice shook. She needed to get out. Already breathing had become difficult, ragged.
“Fine.” He threw her keys back, which she fumbled and caught before they hit the floor. “When you’re ready to talk like a grown-up, I’ll be here.”
She flung herself out the door, down the stairs, and into her car. Starting it, she swiped at her tears and drove, stopping three blocks from home to sob.
She couldn’t go back, but she had nowhere to go and no one to call.
Her grandmother had passed eight years ago, and she had no one else to turn to.
Anna had never felt more alone, and she gave into the grief of more of her life wasted, letting it out.
Though she lost track of how long she cried, her tears at last subsided into a few hiccups.
Wrung out, Anna allowed herself a few moments to breathe, and composed herself.
Her face must still be blotched, red, and puffy, but she regained control.
She rolled down the window to get some air and sat for another fifteen minutes, calming herself by concentrating on the rhythm of her regular breathing.
While she tried to figure out her next move, the smell of spicy food caught her attention. Meltdowns took an immense amount of energy. She would feel better if she ate. Her stomach grumbled in response.
Across the street stood a Mexican restaurant, so Anna moved her car into their parking lot and entered the establishment. The background music was subdued, and only two families and three couples occupied well-spaced tables in the front section. She slid into a quiet corner booth.
Ordering chicken tacos, Anna ate mechanically, not tasting her food at first while her thoughts whirled.
Her first step would be to figure out where to stay tonight.
At first, nothing came to mind. A hotel?
That seemed so… temporary. She didn’t want a solution for a night or two, but something with potential to last.
How had she ended up with a life she didn’t want? She hated her job, and Adam treated her like a child. She wasn’t going back to either. Good riddance.
Seeking calm, she closed her eyes. Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of writing a book.
Several books, in fact. Writing while sitting at cafes in Europe, seeing fresh places every holiday.
It was something she and her grandmother had talked about when she’d started university.
Anna had wanted to make a living as a writer.
Somehow, she’d been convinced her dreams were too difficult or unattainable.
She’d never gotten off the continent or made it past scribbles she’d never had the guts to share with anyone.
Goosebumps rose on her arms. What if she tried to be a writer? For once, she’d have time. No matter how awful her day had been, there was no reason she couldn’t change her life.
With the new possibilities abuzz in her head, the rest of her dinner was delicious.
As the sun set in a blaze of cotton candy pink and soft orange, she paid for her dinner and left the restaurant.
She stood facing the glow and refused to let herself be crippled by fear.
What would she do to become a writer if she didn’t have to play it safe?
Like a bolt of lightning, it came to her.
She could start over somewhere new. Her mind flashed back to the postcard from her cubicle. That was the life she wanted.
Not daring to think too hard, she hopped in the car and drove.
She sold her almost new car at a used car lot, called a cab, and got dropped off at SeaTac airport.
With the cash from the sale of her car tucked deep inside her purse, she wheeled her suitcase inside the airport, checking that her passport was accessible.
With a deep breath, Anna studied the Departures board and bought a one-way ticket to Barcelona—the first flight leaving for Europe. In three hours, she’d be on a plane.