Chapter 6

Starting Over

Emilia 

I stood on the sidewalk with my suitcase beside me when a black car pulled up. The window rolled down and a man leaned out.

“Are you the one who called RideNow?” he asked.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes. That’s me.”

He stepped out and opened the trunk. “Are you traveling far?”

“Not really,” I said as I lifted my suitcase. My hands felt weak, but I managed to push it inside.

I got into the back seat and shut the door. The car smelled like air freshener and coffee. He adjusted his mirror and looked at me.

“So, where to?”

The question made my chest tighten. I stared at the back of his seat. Where was I going? I couldn’t go to Georgina’s house. She had just gotten married. She was happy and I couldn’t  just walk into her new life with divorce papers in my bag and tears in my eyes. I couldn’t ruin her peace.

I didn’t have friends I could stay with either. Most of them were married or had moved away. And even if they were here, I didn’t want to explain everything. I didn’t want to look weak.

“Miss?” the driver asked again. “I need a location.”

I forced myself to speak. “Can you take me to the nearest decent motel?”

He paused. “A motel?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged and started driving. “Alright. There’s one about fifteen minutes from here. Not five-star, but clean.”

“That’s fine.”

He drove in silence for about ten seconds before speaking again. “You’re not from around here?”

“I am.”

“Oh. Just figured since you’re going to a motel. Usually people stay with family or friends.”

I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even have the strength to think.

He kept going. “Are you in town for work or something?”

“No.”

“Break from home?”

I looked out the window. The streets I had known for years passed by but I felt like a stranger in my own city.

“I just need a place to stay,” I said quietly.

He laughed lightly. “Well, motels aren’t the safest long term. If you’ve got people, better to stay with them. World’s not easy out here.”

I almost told him everything. That my husband chose another woman. That my best friend betrayed me. That I had signed divorce papers that morning. And that  I had less than a year to live. The words rose to my throat, but I swallowed them.

What was the point? He was a stranger.

And deep down, I blamed myself. I agreed to a contract marriage. I told myself I wouldn’t expect love. I was the one who broke my own rules. I was the one who fell in love first.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

He glanced at me through the mirror. “You don’t look fine.”

“I am,” I insisted.

He let out a breath and turned into a smaller street. “Suit yourself. Just saying, life’s too short to isolate yourself.”

Life is too short.

The words hit differently that I  almost laughed, but nothing came out.

The car finally stopped in front of a two-story building with faded cream paint and a flickering sign that read Sunset Lodge. It didn’t look terrible but it didn’t look good either. It just looked… quiet.

“We’re here,” he said.

I handed him the fare and added a small tip. “Thank you.”

He looked surprised. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright then. Take care of yourself.”

I stepped out and grabbed my suitcase. When his car drove off, I felt relief. His talking had been too much. My head already felt heavy.

I walked into the lobby. The air smelled like cleaning liquid. The tiles were old but not cracked. A small television played the news in the corner.

A middle-aged woman sat behind the desk. She looked up.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening,” I replied.

“How many nights?”

“A month.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “A month?”

“Yes.”

She typed something into her computer. “We usually give weekly discounts. Monthly is rare.”

“That’s fine.”

She told me the amount and my hands trembled slightly as I brought out my card. I prayed it would go through.

It did.

But when I checked my banking app afterward, my heart dropped. The numbers were low. Very low and I was almost in the red.

I had walked away from a mansion. Now I was counting every dollar.

“Room 207,” the receptionist said, handing me a key card. “Stairs are to your left.”

“Thank you.”

As I turned, I noticed a man sitting on one of the couches staring at me. Probably wondering why someone like me was paying for a month in a place like this. I ignored him.

I climbed the stairs slowly. My body felt heavier than my suitcase. When I reached room 207, I slid the card in and pushed the door open.

The room was small. A bed, a wooden table, a chair, a small closet. The curtains were plain brown. The bathroom door was slightly open.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t home either.

I pulled my suitcase inside and shut the door. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.

For a second, I just stood there.

Then I dropped my bag near the wall and let my purse fall onto the table. I kicked off my shoes and walked to the bed.

I sat down slowly, then lay back.

The ceiling was white with a small crack near the corner. I stared at it.

This was my life now.

No mansion. No husband. And no best friend.

Just a motel room and silence.

I folded my hands over my stomach and blinked back tears. I told myself I wouldn’t cry again. I had cried enough.

I laid there without moving, staring at the crack on the ceiling as if it could give me answers. The room was quiet, but my mind was loud. Everything that happened today replayed in my head like a film I could not pause.

Julian standing in that hospital room.

Cassandra’s swollen belly.

The way he bent down and kissed it.

The way he said she would always have a place in his heart.

I shut my eyes tightly, but it only made the images clearer. My chest hurt, not from sickness, but from the weight of it all. Five years. Five whole years of waiting. Of hoping. Of telling myself to be patient.

I felt something warm slide down my temple and into my hair. I reached up and touched my face. Tears.

I turned to my side quickly and wiped them away with the back of my hand.

“No,” I whispered to myself. “Stop it.”

I had already left. I had signed the papers and  had walked out. That had to count for something. I could not keep crying over a man who did not fight for me. I could not keep breaking over someone who did not even answer when I asked if he loved me.

That silence hurt more than any words could have.

Maybe I had been foolish from the beginning. I agreed to a contract and expected love in return. I told myself I could handle it. I told myself I would not fall. But I did.

I pressed my lips together and forced myself to breathe slowly.

“It’s over,” I told myself. “You left. That’s enough.”

I could not change the past. I could not undo the wedding. I could not erase Cassandra’s betrayal. But I could choose what to do next.

I would forget them.

I would forget the mansion, the cold dinners, the empty bed.

I would forget the way my heart jumped every time Julian walked into a room.

The thought hurt, but I held onto it firmly.

The stress from the day began to weigh down on me. My body felt weak. My head felt heavy. My eyes burned from holding back tears.

I turned onto my back again and stared at the ceiling one last time.

“I’ll be fine,” I murmured softly, even though I wasn’t sure it was true.

Slowly, my thoughts became slower. The noise in my head faded and the tightness in my chest loosened just a little.

And without realizing it, I drifted into sleep.