Run Away

The next morning I wake up at 5am to shower, dress, make a large breakfast, prepare Tom’s clothes and day. I need him to let me leave. I might not know how to escape him yet, but I know I’ll need as many outside resources as possible.

By 6:45am April slumps into the kitchen yawning. When she sees me she snaps, “what are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast for my husband.” I answer.

The fury on her face is completely unhidden.

“You don’t need to that. He has me—”

“If you were able to satisfy him, I’d still be in the hospital.” This is a wild guess but it seems to set her off so I guess it hit a nerve.

She rushes around the island and tries to pull the hot pan I’m using out of my grasp. I hold it steady but she tugs again, this time losing her grip and falls, bring a pan of hot eggs down on top of her while the contents of my pan fly back.

She cries out loudly, just in time for Tom to rush into the room.

He rushes down to April’s side and quickly helps clean her off.

“It’s my fault,” she whimpers as he does this, “I shouldn’t have prepared your clothes or cooked for you. I should’ve known it would set her off.”

“You did all that?” He sounds truly baffled and touched.

“No, she didn’t! I—" I start but he holds up a hand and looks back at me with a stern glare. “I did this!”

“We know you did this,” April whimpers in an accusatory voice as she pulls on Tom to help her stand. She limps, falling against him.

“How is your ankle hurt?!” I demand.

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you,” She sighs and brushes me off.

“Liam! Harry!” Tom calls and two men rush in from the front door. Tom holds April by the shoulders to steady her, “I’ll call Hendrix to take me and Miss. Sunday to the hospital. Don’t let my wife leave.”

“Yes sir,” they say.

Tom shoots me one last dark look. April looks smug and happy. I have to look away from them. Once they’re gone I fall against the back of the couch and let my eyes fill with tears. I didn’t think it hurt that much, but after sitting in the remanence for a moment, there’s nothing I can do but cry.

I don’t know if I’m crying over the loss of my husband. Or the frustration of April’s seemingly constant victories. Or due to the loss of my freedom. But I don’t hold back anymore and let myself sob loudly.

Seeming awkward and unsure what to do, Harry and Liam back out of the room and back towards the front door.

I’m probably crying for about 5 minutes before the sobs slow and clarity slowly returns. I didn’t do this morning because I’m trying to win back my husband.

I didn’t do it so I could earn his favour or respect or because I want him to be happy. I did it so I could get a few minutes out of the house.

April – unknowing to herself – is that ticket out of the house. She won’t let Tom return to me too quickly. She won’t risk me telling him what really happened before she can cement her story.

The hospital visit alone would probably take 2 to 3 hours. She will easily extend that to 5 or 6. And if I call Tom a few times, she might even push it longer just to make me feel lonely.

April – thank you. For keeping my husband distracted for a few hours.

I pull myself roughly back to my feet and hurry into my room. I change into any clean outfit and refinish my hair. I don’t want to smell like oil or grease. Then I hurry back to the kitchen.

Although everything has mostly cooled, it’s still a mess.

I kneel nearby the fallen food and let out a cry, “Oh…. Oh… Ow… ahh.”

It takes longer than I think it should but one of the men – he looks more like a Harry than a Liam – walks in to see me crying against a counter.

When I see him, I look over and in my softest voice beg, “can you please help me?”

He hesitates, but calls Liam and the two work together to clean the mess. I almost feel back dragging them into this. But for them this should only be a job.

I back slowly away from them as I give them quiet and rare instructions on what cleaner to use, where to discard different messes, and where to put things.

While doing this, I write a note: No one will know if none of us tell

I leave it on the table near the door and rush out. I take the stairs because the elevator is slow and I am too scared they’ll catch me before I escape.

No one is in the lobby waiting to catch me, despite what I had feared.

I rush out the front doors and catch a taxi.

I am lucky that I had stored $1000 cash for emergencies in a jar in the back of a cupboard in Tom’s office. Otherwise I’d have no way to pay the taxi.

But it’s only a thousand, and I will likely have to stretch it very far.

I arrive at the library beside the restaurant where I’ll be meeting Hailey and Carson. I use the computers in the library to try to find friends I haven’t seen in years, find my dad, and find a job.

I find Anna, my best friend. She’s engaged now and still tagging me in posts. I can’t figure out where she thinks I’ve been. I have to create a fake email and fake account to send her a message.

I don’t trust that Tom won’t see if I try to log in my own accounts or start sending messages.

I can’t find anything on my dad.

But I manage to send at least 13 copies of a freshly made, albeit rushed, resume. I attach the new fake email so they will have a way to reach me.

Then I rush to the restaurant. Carson and Hailey are already waiting when I get there.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” I tell them as I sit.

“That’s alright. We were just happy you could make it.” Hailey says, “are you feeling any better?”

“I am, thank you.” I lie with a smile.

“Here, we already ordered food but we want you to eat this too,” Carson pushes a small bowl of soup and a small side of rice to me. When I meet his gaze, confused, he bashfully admits, “we’re concerned you’re not eating enough. You were starving last time but you barely ate anything.”

The aversion to food never left when I left the hospital. I want to eat, but it scares me. I don’t trust that it hasn’t been touched or drugged or poisoned. A part of me fears being attacked when I start eating.

“Thank you,” I say as I try to force myself to eat it.

“Chloe, how are you and Tom doing?” Hailey asks suddenly. I have a spoonful of rice halfway in my mouth when I stop to look at her curiously. Carson nudges her arm and snaps something at her but his voice is too low and whispered for me to hear.

She hisses something back at him but I can’t hear what.

The only coherent words I hear are her snapping, “tell her!”

“What’s going on?” I laugh a little nervously.

They share one last arguing look before he finally looks at me and says, “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“My brother saw your husband and another woman at the hospital today.” Hailey snaps angrily. I feel my breathing stop and my chest clench but I try to control it.

“Oh.” I blink.

“He may have just been helping her but…” Carson tries.

“You said she hugging his waist and calling him honey.” Hailey says.

What am I supposed to say? Why should I have to monitor how I explain his affairs when he makes them this public? Still – I can’t stop the urge to cry. I want to pretend I’m completely over him but I can’t.

I want – desperately – to be wrong. I want all of this to be a big misunderstanding and I want him to come find me and tell me he loves me and only me and he’ll protect me alone from now on. But this is a fantasy. One I clung to while in the hospital. An imaginary version of my husband.

I shake my head and force a smile, “do you mean April Sunday?”

Carson blinks at me, confused and surprised. He says, “I think so, yes.”

“That’s his assistant. One of them.” I say.

Carson makes a face and unfortunately I can read it clearly. He thinks I’m foolish. He thinks I’m in denial.

Hailey, always a little more forward says, “I’ve never hugged my boss or called him honey.”

I want to tell them. To tell someone. To tell anyone. My husband’s been cheating on me. He locked me in a hospital so he could play house with his assistant. I’m only out to birth their future child together.

I can’t say any of that though. It’s too humiliating. And it could hurt my father. Besides, I shouldn’t even be out right now. If Tom were to find out this is how people were talking – and that I’d gone out to worsen the rumours – my dad wouldn’t survive. I have to think fast. I can’t tell the truth.

Instead I say, “we have an open relationship.”