Six

CHAPTER SIX — A HOME OF MY OWN

“Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you really mean to leave me?”

“Put the agreement down, Alexander. You have already signed it.”

He stared at the papers as though the signature had appeared without his permission. I placed an empty suitcase on the bed and began folding my clothes.

“You tricked me into signing a divorce agreement.”

“I asked you to sign the credit-card statements. You signed without reading.”

“You knew I trusted you.”

The irony almost made me smile. “You were right about one thing. I did trust you. That was my mistake.”

He dropped the agreement onto the dresser. “We can fix this. I will speak to Chloe, and she can be transferred to another department.”

I folded a blouse and placed it in the suitcase. “You still think the problem is Chloe.”

“She is not worth destroying seven years.”

“Then why did you keep choosing her?”

He had no answer.

I continued packing until he moved in front of the wardrobe. “You are not leaving tonight.”

“I have already paid for another apartment.”

His face changed. “Where?”

“That is none of your business.”

“You cannot simply walk away from everything.”

“I am walking away from you. There is a difference.”

He looked around the bedroom, perhaps noticing for the first time how much of my life was contained in that room. The photographs, the books, the clothes, and the little things I had collected because I once imagined growing old beside him.

“Victoria,” he said, his voice softer. “You are upset. Give me a few days.”

I zipped the suitcase. “I gave you seven years.”

The moving men carried my boxes downstairs. Alexander followed me to the front entrance, but he did not try to stop them. His pride would not allow him to beg in front of strangers.

My new apartment was on the eighth floor of a quiet building. The rooms needed painting, the kitchen was small, and the balcony overlooked a busy street. Still, when I unlocked the door, I felt something loosen in my chest.

The apartment opposite mine was being renovated. A worker carried a long wooden beam through the corridor just as I stepped outside to collect a package. The beam slipped from his shoulder and swung toward me.

“Watch out!”

A hand caught my arm and pulled me backward. The beam struck the wall where I had been standing.

I stumbled against a man in a dark shirt. He steadied me, his expression tense.

“Are you hurt?”

I looked up and recognized Nathaniel Blackwood.

“You live here?”

“Apparently, we are neighbours.”

I glanced at the workers. “That was close.”

“Too close. I will make sure they secure everything before continuing.”

He released my arm once he was certain I was steady. There was no awkward attempt to prolong the moment, only a quiet concern that made me feel strangely safe.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You seem to have a habit of being surrounded by people who do not pay attention.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And you seem to have a habit of appearing whenever something goes wrong.”

“Perhaps I should start charging for rescues.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. It was the first genuine laugh I had managed in weeks.

My phone began ringing from inside the apartment. Alexander’s name flashed across the screen. I let it ring until the call ended, then another message appeared.

*Come home. We need to talk.*

I deleted it.

Nathaniel noticed but did not comment. He only stepped aside so I could enter my apartment.

That night, I sat on the floor among unopened boxes and ate takeaway noodles. It was not a glamorous beginning, but it belonged to me.

At eleven, another message arrived from an unknown number.

*Your husband is looking for you. You should be careful about making him angry.*

I read it twice, then looked toward the closed front door.

I packed slowly because every object seemed to carry a version of my former life. The blue scarf Alexander had bought during our first winter together went into the donation box. The framed photograph from our honeymoon stayed on the dresser until I finally turned it face down. I could not bring myself to throw it away, but I could no longer bear to look at the smiling couple in the picture and pretend they were still us.

Alexander watched me fold clothes as though the ordinary movement of my hands might somehow be reversed if he stared long enough. He kept offering practical solutions: a holiday, a different bedroom, a transfer for Chloe, even a new car. Each suggestion revealed how little he understood. He believed the marriage could be repaired by rearranging the inconveniences around it, while I was asking him to acknowledge the betrayal at its centre.

When the moving men carried the final boxes downstairs, I stood in the empty bedroom for several seconds. The room looked larger without my belongings, but it also looked unfamiliar. I remembered the nights I had waited for Alexander to come home, telling myself that the next morning would be better. I remembered apologising after arguments I had not started. I was not proud of how long I had accepted so little, but I refused to blame myself for his choices.

The near accident outside my new apartment startled me more than I wanted to admit. For one brief second, I had seen the beam coming and been unable to move quickly enough. Nathaniel's hand caught me before I could fall. I thanked him, then stepped away, determined not to mistake his kindness for a promise of anything more.

Inside the apartment, I opened one box and found my favourite mug wrapped in an old towel. I made tea and sat on the floor beside the window. The place was quiet except for traffic below, and the silence no longer felt like punishment. It felt like space I could fill with decisions of my own.

The threatening message disturbed that fragile peace. I checked the lock twice and drew the curtains, then saved the number before blocking it. Whoever had sent it knew I had moved, and that meant the situation was no longer limited to arguments with Alexander. I promised myself I would tell my solicitor and the building manager if another message arrived.

Someone knew where I lived.