Anywhere But Home

Just as I was about to step out of the house, my phone buzzed with a message.

I checked it.

It was from Ethan.

I quickly swiped it open, praying it was a message filled with regret—or even shame.

But no.

Ethan: “Emery… I didn’t want it to be like this. God knows I’ve tried to fight it, but I can’t anymore. I’ve been torn for months, waking up every day pretending to love you the way I used to—but something’s changed.

I never planned to fall in love with Mia. It just… happened. I swear I didn’t go looking for it, but she understands parts of me you never saw. And every time I’m with her, I feel peace—something I haven’t felt in a long time.

I hate myself for hurting you, Emery. You’re an amazing woman. You gave me five solid years, and I’ll always respect you for that. But it’s not fair to either of us to keep going when my heart is somewhere else. I’m sorry it ended this way. Please don’t think I never loved you—I did. But I can’t keep pretending anymore.

I think the four years I have with Mia is better and sweeter in my life.”

I stared at the message.

My eyes filled with tears again, but I couldn’t cry anymore.

I had already used up my crying bundle—the last drop of it drained when Mia left me earlier like I was nothing but a chapter she was done reading.

I quickly opened my ears wide to let breeze blow away the tears in my eyes.

I didn’t scream.

I just picked my phone and called him back to confirm, but I was blocked.

I slowly picked up my jacket, walked out of the house, and waved down a taxi.

Taxi man: “Madam, to where?”

Me: “Anywhere… anywhere I can find peace. Anywhere but home without Mia and Ethan.”

The man didn’t say another word. He just started the engine, and I leaned back against the seat, letting my head fall against the glass.

The city passed by in a blur—lights I no longer wanted to see, streets I no longer felt safe walking on, memories I was desperate to outrun.

After what felt like an hour of silence and darkness, the taxi finally pulled up in front of a place I’d never been before.

Whispers & Whiskey Lounge.

Even the name felt like a hug I didn’t ask for.

Taxi man: “Madam, we are somewhere far away from home.”

I paid the driver and stepped out.

The outside was quiet, nothing flashy. Just a lonely bar with warm lights that whispered promises it probably wouldn’t keep. But right now, I didn’t care. I just wanted something—anything—to drown the pain humming beneath my skin.

I walked in, head low, heart even lower.

The lounge welcomed me like a stranger who somehow knew me. Dim lighting bathed the room in gold and sadness. Slow jazz music floated in the air—haunting, beautiful, and terribly lonely.

I made my way to the bar and slid into the nearest stool like my legs were numb, like they didn’t belong to me anymore.

The bartender looked up. A man in his early 30s with kind eyes and tired hands.

I didn’t bother with pleasantries.

Didn’t ask for a menu.

“I need something strong,” I said, my voice low, almost breaking.

“The kind that burns going down and numbs everything else. The kind that will make me a reborn by tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t ask questions.

Just nodded, like he’d seen a thousand women like me—heartbroken, heavy, and pretending to be fine.

Moments later, he placed a glass in front of me. Amber liquid. Burning and bitter. Just what I asked for.

I took a sip. Then another.

Until the pain in my chest started fading… just a little.

And my eyes started getting blurry.

That’s when I noticed him.

A man sitting in the corner. Around his 30s. Alone. Quiet. Drinking like the glass held answers to whatever storm he was fighting inside. He looked exactly like we were going through the same thing.

Even as he sat in the shadows, something about him stood out—like an extra character in a movie scene who somehow looked more handsome than the main lead.

His jawline was sharp. His eyes, unreadable. And the way he nursed his drink told me he wasn’t there for fun.

He was drowning too.

I looked at him with “bad eyes,” like I was ready to blame him for all the heartbreak in the world.

“There goes another heartbreaker,” I murmured to myself, hissing as I returned to my drink.

I didn’t plan on speaking to him. I didn’t even want to.

But my eyes kept straying to his table like they had a mind of their own.

The more I drank, the blurrier the night became.

⸻

The next morning. Now a Sunday morning.

The sharp buzz of my phone vibrating against the side table yanked me out of sleep.

Eyes heavy, head pounding, I reached for it.

A message from my mum.

Mum: “Emery, how are you? Hope you are doing well at work. Please come home for the New Year festival with Mia. We’re all waiting to see your beautiful faces.”

I dropped the phone slowly and closed my eyes again, ready to drift back into sleep.

But something wasn’t right.

This wasn’t my room.

The curtains were darker. The air was colder.

The bed sheets… strange.

My heart skipped.

I opened the duvet.

I was naked.

Completely stark naked under the covers.

Panic hit me like a slap.

I turned my head—

And there he was.

The same man I saw last night.

The one in the corner of the lounge.

Lying next to me. Also naked. Sleeping peacefully like nothing had happened.

My eyes widened.

What happened last night?

How did I end up in this room? With him? Like this?

I couldn’t think straight.

I jumped out of the bed, picked up my bag and scattered clothes, and dressed as quickly—but as quietly—as I could. I didn’t want to wake him.

I couldn’t even face him.

I didn’t want to explain something I didn’t remember.

I know myself. I’m a crazy drunk.

I’m capable of doing many bad things when I’m drunk.

I could even cause a war when I’m drunk.

As I slipped out of the hotel room and closed the door behind me, my heart was racing.

My steps were fast.

My mind? Slower.

How did I get here?

What did I do?

Why do I feel like I just added another crack to a heart that was already broken?

I didn’t stop to think.

I just left Whispers & Whiskey Lounge, my shoes in my hand… the sunrise brushing shame across my skin.

And just like that, the heartbreak I thought couldn’t go deeper?

Did.