CHAPTER 2

Catherine's pov

The room felt colder than usual that night. The shadows hid themselves softly in the corners. Catherine stood with her back straight, her chest lifted, but her voice did waver.

"I'm your wife. Why should I move out so she can move in?"

Ryan Brook turned slowly. His eyes narrowed, and his face darkened. "Why?" His voice was sharp, like a blade. "Because Sarah says you're the one who hit her with your car six years ago."

Her breath caught. The room seemed to spin for a moment, then steadied again. A faint, bitter smile touched her lips. "And if I told you I wasn't, would you even believe me?"

Ryan stepped forward, each pace heavy and deliberate. Catherine backed away without realizing it, her heels clicking against the hardwood until her shoulders met the wall.

"You really think I believe you?" His voice dropped almost to a growl. "You're sick. Twisted. I can't wait to repay Sarah's pain a hundred times over."

Her heart ached painfully. His words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Six years. Six long years, and she had hoped that maybe just maybe he'd see her, even a little. But his eyes held the truth. There was no softness. Only ice.

"I didn't do it," she whispered, her lips pressed tightly together.

Ryan leaned over her, his gaze heavy. "You're not stupid, Catherine. You know what you have to do."

He turned and walked out without another glance, leaving the silence behind him heavy and choking.

Catherine stood frozen, her eyes drifting to the mirror across the room. A pale face looked back at her unfamiliar and tired.

Is that me? That broken thing staring back?

She traced the outline of the reflection with her eyes. Once, she had walked with confidence. Crowds had turned their heads. Now she hardly recognized herself. How ridiculous. Six years of this. Six years of wasting herself away. She let out a long breath, almost a laugh, but not quite.

It's time. Time to let go.

The next morning, Ryan left early for a checkup at St. Mary's Medical Centre. Catherine remained behind. She stood in front of the mirror again, but this time something had changed. She slipped off the apron she had worn day after day the one that had tied her to this house like a servant's collar. Carefully, she folded it and set it aside. Then she pulled out a white dress.

Her suitcase sat waiting by the door.

She walked downstairs slowly, her hands trailing along the banister. Walker was sprawled across the couch, a bowl of chips balanced on his lap. The TV blared loudly in front of him. He noticed her immediately.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Catherine didn't answer. She kept walking, her suitcase clicking against the floor.

Walker jumped up, blocking her path. He grabbed the handle of the suitcase, his face twisting into something mean. "Are you deaf? I asked you a question. Have you cleaned my room yet? What about breakfast? You think you can just walk out?"

Catherine's eyes locked on his hands gripping the suitcase. Calmly, she pressed his fingers away one by one. Her voice came out cool and sharp.

"Listen carefully. From now on, I'm done putting up with you."

Walker's eyes went wide. For four seconds, he just stared. Then he grinned and shouted toward the stairs. "Mom! Mom! She's bullying me!"

Footsteps thundered down. Kate appeared, fury twisting her features. Her eyes landed on Catherine, and she grabbed the nearest duster, swinging it wildly.

"You ungrateful witch! How dare you lay a finger on my son? I'll kill you!"

The blow came fast, but this time Catherine's hands shot out. She caught the duster mid-swing, yanked it hard from Kate's grip, and flung it to the ground. Her voice rang through the house, bold and steady.

"Don't touch me again."

Kate froze, shocked. For years, Catherine had taken the abuse quietly, never fighting back. This sudden defiance left her momentarily speechless.

"You've lost your mind!" Kate finally shouted. "I'll tell Ryan to divorce you!"

In the past, that threat would have scared Catherine into silence. She would have bowed her head, swallowed her pride, and said nothing. Not today.

"Do as you wish," she replied softly, but with finality.

She turned, pulling her suitcase behind her. Kate and Walker's voices chased after her loud and hateful but Catherine didn't slow. She opened the front door and stepped outside. The cold air hit her face like freedom.

The timing was almost too perfect. A black Cadillac rolled to a stop right at the curb. The window rolled down, and a familiar voice called out with a teasing breath.

"Hey, gorgeous. Do you need a ride?"

Catherine blinked. Her heart skipped. Then, without looking back at the house, she lifted her suitcase and walked straight to the car. The door swung open, and she slid into the passenger seat. As the car pulled away, Kate's shouting faded behind them.

Inside the car, Catherine leaned her head back against the seat. Her chest rose and fell too quickly.

"Rough morning?"

"You could say that," she replied.

"You want me to turn back and run them over?" The driver chuckled, clearly joking.

Despite herself, Catherine let out a small laugh. It felt strange, almost foreign. "Just drive."

The city stretched out ahead endless and unknown. For the first time in years, Catherine felt the weight of the house lifting from her shoulders. Her thoughts drifted into the quiet of the car.

What now? Where do I even begin? How do I start over when I've spent six years losing myself?

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the engine drown out the thought. For now, at least, she had left. That was the first step.

Back at the Brook house, Kate stormed into the living room, murmuring curses under her breath. Walker slumped back onto the couch with a grin.

"She finally cracked," he said easily. "Told you she wouldn't last forever."

Kate glanced at him. "Don't be so smug. Ryan is not going to like this mess."

Walker shrugged. "Not my problem." The feather duster lay broken on the floor.

Meanwhile, Catherine kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. The driver glanced her way and smiled easily.

"You know, you look better already. Like someone who just broke out of prison."

"Maybe I did," she said quietly.

And for the first time, the words didn't feel like an exaggeration.