The Woman in My Seat

I sank my weight into the wet spot, the icy liquid seeping into my expensive leather skirt. The sticky, slimy sensation crept up my skin and straight to my heart, and I nearly threw up from the chill. All through the drive, Kirk Church hummed a little tune I’d never heard before. He was in a good mood and couldn’t care less about my misery. We arrived at a restaurant. It was the most exclusive, hard-to-book Michelin-starred establishment. Kirk didn’t apologize for what he said earlier or try to console me. Halfway through the dinner service, Kirk pulled out a velvet box. It was an engagement ring. The velvet casing was somewhat worn down, as if someone had been running their fingers over the fabric repeatedly. “Put it on, Sandra. We’ve been together for seven years. It’s time to show the family it means something.” Kirk didn’t even rise to his feet or get down on one knee. As the ring slipped onto my ring finger, my heart had never felt so heavy. A size too big, t

“Put me in touch with the investment bank that’s been trying to headhunt me. I’m ready to make the jump.” Meanwhile, I started auditing the joint assets under our names. Since it had all been tainted, I should destroy every bit of it. …The company held its biannual team-building dinner at an upscale seafood restaurant.Kirk was determined to bring Eden along and seated her on his right. I, the supposed fiancée-to-be, was shoved all the way to the very edge of the seating arrangement. Throughout dinner, Kirk focused his attention solely on Eden, tending to her every whim with the utmost care. No one even acknowledged me as if I were just there to fill a seat. Eden snapped her head up, her gaze falling on one of the restaurant’s signature dishes. It was a plate of shrimp in citrus glaze. Using a fork, she speared one from her plate and placed it on mine. “Ms. Bray, this is the specialty of the house. Do have a taste.” She smiled innocently, but malice flickered i

I hurled the blood-stained evidence at his hypocritical face. Kirk’s eyes widened, and his face turned pale. Not bothered to check on him, I swallowed the pain and walked out of the conference room. Despite the immense agony, I went straight to the precinct and submitted the evidence. After giving my statement, I left the station for the hospital to get treatment for my injuries. The physician told me that the nerves in my hand would have been severed had the cut been slightly deeper. Even with the damage repaired, my days of lifting anything substantial or sketching detailed designs were effectively over.While I looked at layers of gauze over my hand, a rush of liberation washed over me. Meanwhile, Kirk blew up my phone with calls. I shut the phone off and dumped it in the trash can. Kirk assumed that I was just acting up like before. In his mind, it wouldn’t be long before I came crawling back to him. After all, there was a time I lost myself in my feelings for

As I stood from this elevated position, the resentment I’d carried for so long faded without a trace. “Kirk, do you realize the smell on you is worse than your damp passenger seat?” I didn’t raise my voice, but my words were cutting. “I cannot tolerate filth. “It doesn’t just apply to things. When a person is dirty inside and out, even looking at them is beneath me.”I gestured to security to drag Kirk out. While being hauled away, Kirk kept calling out my name. My new partner asked tenderly, “Shall we go someplace else for a breath of fresh air?” I smiled and nodded. He had a point. The air outside was much cleaner than this place. … Even after being thrown out, Kirk didn’t quiet down.He set up an online account and began posting a serialized version of our seven years together. In these videos, Kirk sold a sob story and painted himself as a heartbroken man who lost his love due to a brief lapse of judgment. He accused me of being ruthless for taking the tal

I bought a minimalist beachfront home. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled the space with light. The walls were pure white, without the unnecessary ornament. I still couldn’t tolerate filth, but I had learned to make peace with myself. One day, I was sketching out concepts for my new collection in my studio. My phone rang with an unknown contact. The caller claimed to be calling from a local precinct in the suburbs. “Am I speaking to Ms. Sandra Bray? We have an unclaimed body here, and we managed to pull your contact information from among his personal effects.” My hand paused, and the paintbrush blotted a trail of ink across the paper. “Who is it?” “His name is Kirk Church. He died of multiple organ failure brought on by a severe pulmonary infection.” The police officer’s voice was somewhat distorted over the line. “Before he passed, he clutched a photograph of you, along with a rusted band…” I fell silent. Scenes of the past flashed before my eyes before pausing