Chapter 4

The pace at Greyfield turned out to be even more relentless than I'd expected.

I was barely through my first day when I got pulled straight into a project team's brainstorming session.

The city was unfamiliar. My colleagues were strangers, and the projects were all new to me, yet somehow, it all came with a jolt of excitement I hadn't felt in a long time.

I poured every ounce of energy into the work. During the day, there were meetings and analysis at the office. At night, back in my tiny rented apartment, I'd stay up late going over plans.

It felt like I had an endless supply of drive. The sheer busyness filled every gap in my days, leaving no room for anything else to creep in.

Rachel called me almost every day. "Hey, tough girl, you holding up? Still alive over there?"

"Yeah, doing fine. Just took down some death-level spicy fried chicken."

"Nice. You really went that hot all by yourself? Not scared of wrecking your stomach with no one around to take care of you?"

"I got the mild version."

She clicked her tongue. "Lame."

Then she paused, and her voice softened just a notch. "So... has Charles called?"

"No."

"He hasn't even noticed you're gone?"

"Maybe he's just busy."

"Nonsense. He's just not that into you. Sarah, for once you actually did something right. You can't keep being the one who gives in all the time. He needs to figure out that life goes on whether he's in it or not."

I laughed but didn't say anything to that.

After hanging up, I opened my laptop, and the rows of financial data on the screen quickly pulled my focus back to reality.

I wasn't acting out of spite, and I wasn't trying to get even.

I was just steering my life in a direction that made more sense for me.

A relationship that does nothing but drain you and make you miserable is like dead tissue. The only real option is to cut it out. It hurts, but it's still better than letting it rot.

Sunday marked one week since I'd left.

I'd been keeping track of the days, so I knew Charles' big surgery would be finished by now.

He always took the day off after a major operation, went home, and crashed.

What I couldn't predict was how he'd react when he walked through the door and found the apartment empty.

Would he be angry? Shocked? Or maybe even relieved?

I decided not to think about it any further.

My phone buzzed once against the desk. It was a new message.

I picked it up. It was from Charles.

[I'm home] Just those two flat words, not even a period at the end.

I could practically see him typing it, his brow furrowed, that familiar look of irritation on his face.

He probably assumed I'd gone back to my parents' place or was staying with a colleague.

He was waiting for me to give in first, to come around like I always did after a fight, asking whether he'd had a busy day or if he wanted me to order him some food.

I stared at the message and typed nothing back.

About ten minutes later, the phone rang.

I silenced it and turned it face down on the desk.

It kept buzzing, stubborn and relentless. Finally, it stopped.

Then another message appeared. [Sarah, what's that supposed to mean?]

This time there was a question mark.

I could almost see him standing in that empty living room, his face dark with anger.

I picked up the phone and typed out a reply, perfectly calm.

[Here's what it means. I've signed the divorce papers. They're on the coffee table. I've already asked an agent to put the apartment up for rent, so you'll need to move out as soon as you can. And I wish you and your golden partner all the happiness in the world.]

I hit send. Then I blocked Charles' number and all his contact info.

And just like that, the world went quiet.