I Don’t Need You

Chapter Two

The restaurant at the Grand Hotel was bright and noisy. People in expensive suits and shining dresses walked around. When Julian and I walked in, some heads turned. Julian looked like a rich alpha wolf in his dark suit. I walked next to him in my dark green dress. For three years, I hid my legs in thick trousers. Tonight, for the first time, my left leg was bare. The long, ugly scar from my hip down to my knee was open to the light.

I felt people looking at me. Some whispered and pointed at my slight limp. Weeks ago, I would have hidden behind Julian. I would have grabbed his arm and begged to go home. But tonight, my heart felt cold and still. I did not hide. I held my head high and walked to our table.

"Julian! Over here!"

A sweet voice called out. At a corner table near the window sat Dr. Chloe Vance. She wore a bright red dress. Her hair fell in soft waves, and her smile was wide and confident. Next to her sat Director Evans, an old boss from my past career.

Julian’s face lit up when he saw Chloe. I saw that look. It was the same warm look he used to give me long ago. My chest gave a small, dull ache, but it faded fast. I was already used to it.

"Chloe, Director Evans," Julian greeted them, pulling out a chair for me and another for himself next to Chloe.

"Oh, Julian, you are so late! I was about to order without you," Chloe laughed, her eyes shining as she looked at him. Then, her eyes dropped to my legs. A look of fake surprise crossed her face. "Oh, Eleanor! You actually wore a dress? And... oh goodness, your scar is right there. Doesn't it feel cold? Weren't you afraid people would stare?"

Director Evans frowned and looked at my leg with open dislike. "Eleanor, why would you wear something like that? It is not professional. You used to be a top architect before the accident. Now look at you. Showing scars in public? It lacks grace."

In the past, these words would have broken me. I would have run to the bathroom and cried. But I just took a sip of water, looked straight at Director Evans, and gave a calm smile. "Scars prove I survived a terrible night, Director Evans. I do not see why survival should be hidden. My career is judged by my talent, not by my leg."

Director Evans looked shocked. He did not expect me to talk back. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Julian looked surprised too. He turned to me, frowning slightly. "Eleanor, Director Evans was only trying to give advice. There is no need to be so sharp."

I looked right into Julian’s eyes. "Was I sharp, Julian? Or was I just speaking the truth? Didn't Dr. Vance and you tell me today that I need to step out of my comfort zone and face the world? I am facing it. Or did you only want me to face it if I hide my body to protect your pride?"

Julian’s face stiffened. He did not like being questioned in front of his friends. "Eleanor, that is not what I meant. Let’s not make a scene here."

"I am not making a scene. I am just eating dinner," I said softly.

Chloe quickly stepped in with her sweet smile. She touched Julian’s arm—a little too close, a little too familiar. "Oh, Julian, don't be hard on her. Eleanor is just going through a phase of emotional adjustment. It is normal for patients with chronic trauma to lash out. I have seen many cases like this in my clinic. She just needs time."

She spoke about me like I was a mental patient sitting right across from her, while she and my husband sat side by side.

"Dr. Vance," I said, my voice calm and steady. "You talk a lot about my mental state for someone who only met me twice. A psychologist should focus on her own professional boundaries, rather than acting like the mistress of another man’s husband."

The table went dead silent.

Director Evans choked on his wine. Julian’s face turned dark as a storm cloud. He slammed his glass down on the table, making a loud sound.

"Eleanor! That is enough!" Julian’s voice was deep and angry. "Chloe is only trying to help you. How can you be so ungrateful? Apologize to her right now!"

I looked at Julian. His face was full of anger, not for me, but because I had insulted his precious Chloe. For three years, I thought he was just a quiet man who didn't know how to express love. Now I saw the truth. He knew how to love; he just didn't love me. His heart had never left Chloe.

"I will not apologize," I said clearly. I stood up, ignoring the dull pain in my knee, and picked up my small handbag. "I have a headache, Julian. You can stay here and enjoy dinner with Dr. Vance. I can take a taxi home."

"Eleanor, sit down!" Julian ordered, reaching out to grab my wrist.

I pulled my arm away fast. "Don't touch me, Julian. Remember what your girlfriend said? I need to be independent. So let me practice."

Without waiting for his answer, I turned and walked away. Every step I took was firm against the floor. Behind me, I heard Chloe’s soft, fake voice saying, "Oh, Julian, let her go. She’s just throwing a tantrum..."

And Julian? He stayed at the table with Chloe.

My phone vibrated in my bag as I stepped out into the cool night air. It was a message from Professor Harrison: 'Your Swiss visa is approved, Eleanor. Twenty-eight days left.'

I smiled in the dark. Twenty-eight days. I could wait.

The next morning, the sun broke through heavy clouds. Julian did not come home last night. He sent a short text at two in the morning saying Chloe had a sudden anxiety attack because of old memories, and he had to stay at her apartment.

How funny. The great psychologist who knew how to cure everyone else was having panic attacks herself. And my husband was there to play the hero.

I sat at my desk, looking at my architectural sketches. For three years, my pencils sat unused. My hands shook too much to draw a straight line. But today, my hand was steady. I was designing a small library for a community center in Zurich—a project Professor Harrison gave me.

The door downstairs opened. Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. A moment later, Julian walked into the bedroom. He looked tired. His tie was loose.

"Eleanor," Julian said, walking over. His voice carried tired patience. "Why did you leave like that last night? You embarrassed me in front of Director Evans and Chloe."

I didn't look up from my drawing. "I told you I had a headache. And I told you to stay with Dr. Vance. Why are you complaining now?"

Julian frowned and walked closer. He stopped when he saw what was on my desk. His eyes widened. "What is this? Are you drawing again?"

"Yes," I said simply.

"Eleanor, you know you shouldn't strain yourself. Your eyes and your nerves..." He sighed. "Look, I know you were upset. Chloe felt terrible. She cried this morning because she thought she ruined our marriage. But she only wants what’s best for you. She suggested that you find a simple hobby instead of architecture. It’s too stressful."

I put my pencil down slowly and turned to face him.

"Julian," I said calmly. "Did Chloe also tell you that I used to win national design awards before I saved your life?"

Julian blinked. "Of course I know that, Eleanor. But that was before the accident. You have physical limitations now. You can't sit at a desk for ten hours a day. Be realistic."

"Realistic," I repeated softly. "Is it realistic for me to stay locked in this house while you spend the night at your ex-girlfriend's apartment?"

Julian’s face darkened. "I told you, Chloe had an emergency! She was having a panic attack. As a friend, I couldn't just walk away. Why do you have to be so narrow-minded? Why can't you have a big heart like Chloe?"

Big heart. He called my pain narrow-mindedness. If I screamed, he said my anxiety was acting up. If I stayed quiet, he thought I was admitting defeat. No matter what, in his eyes, I was broken, and Chloe was the angel.

"You're right, Julian," I said, offering a cold smile. "I am narrow-minded. So why don't you set me free?"

Julian’s expression froze. The anger in his eyes vanished for a second, replaced by sudden panic. He stepped forward and grabbed my hands. His grip was tight.

"Don't ever say that word again, Eleanor," Julian said, his voice dropping to a low, stern whisper. "I told you on our wedding day, and I’ll tell you again: you saved my life. You are my responsibility. You think you can survive out there on your own with your bad leg and your panic attacks? Without me, you’d fall apart in a week. I will never divorce you. Never."

He said it like a curse, disguised as a promise. He truly believed he was doing me a favor by keeping me locked in this cage.

"Okay," I whispered, letting my hands go limp in his grip. "If you say so, Julian."

His shoulders relaxed, believing he had calmed me down. He kissed my hair—a dry, meaningless touch and checked his watch. "I have a meeting. I’ll order lunch for you. Don't go outside today."

"Alright," I replied.

As soon as he left, I picked up my phone and called my old university friend, Sarah, who ran a high-end art gallery downtown.

"Sarah," I said. "I'm ready. Let's arrange that private exhibition of my architectural drafts for next week. And... I need your help renting a small, secure apartment near the city center under a private name."

"Eleanor!" Sarah’s voice squeaked with excitement. "Are you serious? Of course I’ll help you! What about Julian?"

"Julian doesn't need to know anything," I said quietly, looking at the calendar on my desk. Twenty-seven days left.