Chapter 2 Leaving

Sheets of paper were spread across the leather sofa. Hospital reports. The one on the top of the pile had Wendy's name on it. Early IUP, that was the diagnosis. A black iPad sat beside the report. Zachary had left that in the shop before.

The screen wasn't locked or dimmed. It was playing the same video on loop. The background showed our primary bedroom in the hillside villa. Wendy was wearing my silk pajamas as she rested in Zachary's embrace.

She was pointing at the design sketches on the nightstand, her expression cloying. "The bed's too hard, and those papers are annoying. The whole place reeks of her. I want to throw up."

Zachary landed a tender kiss on his mistress' hair, and his hand caressed her pregnant belly gently. "We'll burn everything that carries her scent, even the sketches she's so proud of. Of course, that's after she leaves the place with nothing. They'll make for good kindling.

"Her only job is to take care of you after the baby's here."

His voice was colder than the winds that howled in the tundra, but I didn't shed a single tear. I stood for a moment before picking up the pregnancy report. Then, I pulled the drawer open and fished out a stack of yellowing letters from within.

These were the love letters Zachary used to write me in college. I switched on the shredder that sat in the corner. It let out a loud, grating roar, clearly hungry for paper.

I fed the hospital reports and that stack of love letters into its gaping maw, and it gobbled every single piece down like a ravenous beast.

The sharp blades tore the papers up into pieces too small and torn to be put back together. Then, I pulled open a secret compartment under the closet and dragged a black suitcase out.

I stuffed my ID and passport into the inner compartment, picked up the top-secret design sketch that would've granted me the chance to make a comeback, and packed it up carefully.

Rebirth, the work-in-progress gown I'd spent six months sewing up, was folded neatly and placed into the suitcase. Then, I zipped it back up, sealing away five years of my youthful and foolish past.

As I walked out the door, the shop outside remained a mess. Every inch of the ground was covered in broken glass and torn fabric. I avoided the glass as best I could as I weaved my way toward the shop's entrance.

The wind howled across the city, and with it brought a biting chill that could slice through flesh. I was going to get an Uber, but bodyguards in black surrounded me like immovable towers. They blocked every possible exit.

Sam waltzed in from beyond the human wall. "Zack didn't say you could leave. Where do you think you're going? And what's with the suitcase?"

Zachary had returned from his smoking break, but the half-finished cigarette sat lazily between his fingers, tendrils of gray curling up into the air. His eyes moved from my face to the suitcase I was holding, and his face turned stormy.

Once again, he strode up to me and blew a whole cloud of reeking smoke into my face. The stench was invasive, rancid, even.

Then, he pointed at my suitcase with the same fingers that held his cigarette. "Open it up."