Chapter 17 #2
Sobs began to choke my throat as I moved faster, my breathing uneven, shallow.
The ache in my chest grew sharper with every step, as if something inside me was physically tearing apart.
He never loved me.
That realization settled like ice in my veins.
He would never love me.
I had been living inside something beautiful and unreal—something I had mistaken for truth because I wanted it so badly.
By the time I reached my room, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the door open.
I stumbled inside.
I moved like I was no longer thinking—only reacting.
My hands jerked open drawers, pulled clothes from hangers, threw them into my suitcase without folding, without care, without even looking at what I was taking.
Fabric blurred together in my vision.
My breathing came in sharp, broken bursts.
A wave of nausea rolled through me again, stronger this time.
I froze for half a second, one hand pressing instinctively to my stomach.
There was life there.
Small. Hidden.
Ours.
A child I had already begun imagining without permission. A future I hadn’t even realized I was building.
My throat tightened violently.
I swallowed hard, forcing the sickness down.
I zipped the suitcase shut with shaking hands, the sound too loud in the silence of the room.
My body felt weak, but my decision didn’t waver.
I was leaving.
I had to leave.
There was no version of this where I stayed and survived what I had just heard.
Dragging the suitcase behind me, I stumbled out of the room and into the hallway.
Each wheel of the bag rattled against the marble, echoing through the house like a countdown I didn’t want to hear.
The air shifted as I reached the front door.
Like the house itself knew something was breaking inside it.
I stepped outside.
The afternoon light hit my tear-streaked face like a slap, too bright, too indifferent to the collapse happening inside me.
I flagged down the first cab I saw, my hand shooting into the air before my mind fully caught up with my body.
The driver slowed immediately.
I barely heard myself speak as I gave him the name of a nearby hotel—somewhere I could disappear without questions.
My voice didn’t sound like mine. It came out fractured, like it was being pulled through glass.
The ride blurred past me.
Buildings. Traffic. Light.
None of it registered properly.
All I could feel was the weight in my chest—suffocating, impossible to shift.
Every breath felt too shallow, like my lungs had forgotten how to fully expand.
By the time the taxi stopped, I was already exhausted.
I paid quickly, almost clumsily, my fingers fumbling with notes I could barely see.
The driver said something—probably polite—but I didn’t process it. I stepped out before I could be asked anything else.
The hotel loomed in front of me.
I forced myself forward.
Inside, the reception area was cool and polished, the air faintly scented with something artificial and too pleasant.
The woman at the desk looked up the moment I approached.
Her polite smile lasted exactly two seconds.
Then it faltered.
Her eyes shifted slightly, scanning my face properly now—the tear-streaked skin, the trembling hands, the way I was holding myself together like it was purely out of stubbornness rather than strength.
“Ma’am...” she said gently, voice softening. “Are you alright?”
That question almost broke me completely.
My throat tightened so hard I couldn’t answer immediately.
I managed a small nod, even though it was a lie. A pathetic, automatic response.
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press either.
I booked the room with shaking hands, signed where I was told to sign, and paid without fully registering the amount.
Everything felt distant—like I was watching someone else live my life through thick glass.
A keycard was placed in my hand.
I barely registered the weight of it.
Upstairs, the corridor was quiet.
The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful—just empty.
My suitcase wheels dragged behind me, each sound too loud against the carpeted silence.
When I finally reached the room, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The moment the door clicked shut behind me, something inside me collapsed.
I didn’t even make it all the way in.
My suitcase fell to the floor with a dull thud. I dragged it to the corner more out of instinct than intention, like I was placing evidence away from myself.
Then my strength gave out completely.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
And stayed there.
The silence in the room was oppressive.
My chest hurt—a sharp, constant ache that tightened every time I tried to breathe too deeply.
I stared at nothing.
The wall. The floor. The edge of the bedspread beneath my hands.
And I waited.
Like a fool.
A pathetic, broken fool still hoping for something that had already shattered in front of me.
Rafael would notice.
He had to notice.
He would come looking. He would call. He would realize I was gone and that something was wrong.
He would explain—there had to be an explanation. Some misunderstanding. Some context I hadn’t heard.
Because the alternative—
No.
I refused to believe that.
My fingers curled into the fabric of the bedspread.
I had grown to love him too deeply for it to end like this.
The thought of walking away didn’t feel like leaving a relationship.
It felt like carving something out of my chest with no anesthesia and walking away while still bleeding.
My phone rang suddenly.
The sound sliced through the silence so sharply I flinched.
My heart jumped immediately, hope and fear colliding so violently I felt nauseous again.
I almost didn’t answer.
But I did.
“Loretta.”
That voice.
Everything in me froze.
My grip tightened around the phone instantly.
“Big brother...” I whispered.
The words came out broken. My throat was already closing again.
Hearing Vincenzo after all this time did something strange to me. Something destabilizing. Like I had been holding myself upright with pure willpower and someone had suddenly removed one of the supports.
My voice cracked.
Tears surged again without warning.
A mess of emotions tangled together—relief, guilt, exhaustion, and something dangerously close to comfort.
“Are you safe?” Vincenzo asked immediately.
His tone was sharp, but underneath it I could hear it—the concern he never bothered to hide with me when it mattered. “Answer me properly. Are you fine? Where are you?”
“I’m... I’m fine, big brother,” I lied quickly.
It came out unconvincing even to me.
I sniffled loudly, wiping my face with the back of my hand like it would somehow fix anything.
There was a pause on the line.
Then his voice dropped colder.
“You’re crying,” he said flatly. “You are not fine, Loretta.”
My throat tightened again.
“Send me your address. I’m coming to get you.”
Something in my chest shifted sharply at that.
“No—” I started, but I didn’t get to finish.
The line went dead.
Silence rushed back in immediately, heavier than before.
I stared at the phone in my hand, unblinking.
My fingers trembled as I lowered it slowly.
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
Then I opened the messaging app.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone twice before I managed to activate location sharing.
The screen lit up, bright and indifferent, as the small blue dot appeared and began to pulse.
I stared at it.
And as I did, something inside me—something desperate and unwise—whispered through the pain.
Let Rafael find me first.
The thought is irresponsible. Reckless. Pathetic, even—I know that.
But it lingers anyway.
Because if Vincenzo gets to me before Rafael does, it will be over.
He would never let Rafael near me again.
Not after everything. Not after what he believes Rafael has already taken from me.
And I can’t even decide which fear is worse anymore.
Because despite everything I had just heard...
Despite the betrayal I believed I had witnessed...
Despite the suitcase sitting by the door like proof of my escape...
A part of me still wasn’t ready to believe I had truly been discarded.
Not by Rafael. Not like that.
An hour passes quickly—like it means nothing.
Sixty minutes.
Sixty moments where I keep expecting ‘someone’ that never arrives.
No call. No message. No knock at the door.
No Rafael.
The absence carved itself into my chest with increasing precision, as if each passing minute was taking something small and necessary from me.
Eventually, my body gave out from standing in emotional suspension.
I collapsed backward onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath me as if it, too, had given up trying to support me properly.
I curled into myself, pulling the pillow against my face, pressing it over my head like I could physically shut out the world that had suddenly become too loud inside my own mind.
But even that didn’t help.
Rafael’s voice replayed again.
And each repetition cut a little deeper than the last, as if my mind refused to let me numb it.
My fingers gripped the fabric of the pillowcase tightly, knuckles aching from the force.
Seconds stretched.
Then minutes.
Time stopped feeling linear in that room. It became something sticky and unbearable.
Every passing moment without a message from him felt heavier than the last.
My breathing turned uneven.
Disappointment and nausea tangled together in my chest until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
My vision blurred at the edges.
I think I was on the edge of sleep.
Or something like it.
That thin place between awareness and collapse.
Then—
The phone rang.
The sound hit the silence like a gunshot.
I shot upright so fast my head spun.
For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe properly.
My heart slammed against my ribs as hope surged through me so quickly it almost hurt.
It had to be Rafael.
He must have found out I’m missing. He must be calling.
The screen lit up.
Incoming call.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it.
I didn’t even check the name.
It had to be him.