Chapter 3: Safe Harbor

The rain hammered against the window of Samantha's living room, which felt all too appropriate given the tempest inside me. My fingers shook, holding the mug of tea Sam had pressed into my hands twenty minutes earlier. It was cold. Just like my marriage.

"You haven't had much of your tea," Sam said, sliding onto the couch beside me. The cushion beneath her gave way.

I looked down at the amber liquid. "Can't swallow the slightest?"

Again, my phone vibrated. Again, as if the twenty-six previous times hadn’t been enough. Michael. I turned it face down.

"How long will you ignore him?" Sam asked as she tucked back some dark hair.

"Forever sounds good right now." My voice was hoarse and dry from all the crying.

Sam plucked the cold mug from my hands and set it on the coffee table with a sound that reverberated through the stillness of the apartment. "He left six voicemails."

"Delete them."

"Don't you want to hear what he has to say?" Sam said

I stood up from the couch; blood rushed to my head, and the room began to spin. "What could he possibly say, Sam? 'Sorry I railed your sister on my desk? Oops, my bad?'"

Just then, the image of Michael naked with Jessica came flooding back. Her smug smile when she saw me standing there. The decorations are strewn across the floor. I was sick to my stomach.

"You need to eat something," Sam said, following me as I paced.

"I need to vomit." I pressed my palm to my mouth. The bile rolled up, only to go back down again. "God, Sam. My sister."

My phone vibrated for a third time. This time, Jessica's name appeared.

"The nerve." Sam snatched the phone before I could lay my hands on it. She read the screen and raised her eyebrows. "She says, and I quote, 'We need to talk. Michael is distraught.'"

A bark of laughter escaped me. "Distraught? He's distraught?" I snatched the phone and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a crack.

Sam didn't budge. She had seen me mad before, but not like this. Never broken.

"Have you called your mother yet?" she asked.

"And tell her what? That Jessica is sleeping with my husband?" The word 'husband' tasted bitter. "She'll take Jessica's side. She always does."

The front door of Sam's apartment was way too close, and the walls felt too tight soon. This is what five years of my life had been reduced to hiding out in my best friend's apartment while the rest of my world imploded.

"They're just Advil. For the headache, I know you have."

Sam disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and two pills. "Take these."

"Not sedatives."

Then there was nothing to hear except the rain beating against the window. My socks were still wet from running through puddles to get to Sam's place. I had left everything behind clothes, my jewelry, my life.

"What happens now?" Sam asked softly.

"I don't know." My voice cracked. New tears burned my eyelids, but I blinked them back. Tired of crying. "I can't go back there."

"You are not going to. You'll remain in here as long as you need to." Sam said

The vibration of my phone disappeared. The silence felt quite worse.

"I should have known." The words scratched my throat. "There were those late nights at the office. The sudden trips. The way Jessica always wanted to know how he was doing." I dug my fingernails into my palms. "I was so stupid."

"Stop it." Sam gripped my shoulders. "This is not your fault."

"His mom always hated me," I said, as the pieces started to click into place. "Five years without bearing him an heir. Elizabeth probably pushed him right into Jessica."

"The only person in this nightmare who is truly innocent is you," Sam said as he tightened his grip. "What Michael did is his choice. What Jessica did is her choice."

I slumped back on the couch, fatigue washing through me. "And what am I going to do, Sam?"

"Tonight? You're going to sleep. Tomorrow, we'll try to figure it out."

"I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see them together."

Sam settled onto the couch beside me, spreading a blanket over both our laps. “Well, then, we'll stay up all night, watching terrible movies, and eating ice cream."

"I don't want ice cream. I want a lawyer."

Sam's eyes squinted slightly. "You're going to dissolve your marriage with him?"

"What else would I do?" The question hung between us.

"I just thought... five years is a long time."

"And it took five seconds to destroy it." I picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "My life is over, Sam. Everything I believed in was a lie."

"You've already known," her voice firm, "Your life isn't over. It's just changing direction."

A humorless laugh escaped me. "Some direction. 27 year old, soon-to-be-divorced, and nowhere to go."

"You have me." Sam squeezed my hand. "And you have your design skills. Start your own business. Move to a new city. Reinvent yourself."

Life without Michael seemed as frightening as liberating. For five long years, I'd been Aria Walton, the wife of billionaire Michael Walton. Who will I be now?

"You can stay here as long as you need," Sam repeated. "What are you going to do next?"

I stared at the rain streaking down the window, a strange calm settling over me. The shock was wearing off, leaving something harder in its place.

"I'm filing for divorce," I said, the words solidifying my resolve. "I won't let them humiliate me anymore."

Sam nodded, a fierce pride in her eyes. "I'll help you find the best divorce attorney in New Jersey."

"I'll need one." My voice became stronger now. "The Waltons never lose."

"There's always a first time."

My phone buzzed, having fallen onto the floor. The screen cracked, but I could still read Michael's message: *Please come home. We need to talk. I can explain.*

I picked up the phone, with my finger hovering over the reply button, then turned it off completely.

"The first thing in the morning," I said. "I'm going back to get my things."

"I'll come with you."

I shook my head. "No. This is something I need to do alone."

The rain was calming down; it had been drumming against the glass so lightly now. In the background, the thunder rumbled away from us.

"They'll try to destroy you," Sam said. "The Waltons protect their own."

I held her gaze, something cold and determined hardening within my chest. "Let them try."

For the first time since I'd burst through Sam's door three hours earlier, drenched and sobbing, I felt a flicker of something like strength. Tomorrow, I’d go back and gather the ashes of my old life—but I won’t be leaving empty-handed.

But tonight, in this safe harbor, I allowed myself to take one more night of grieving before the storm that would follow.