Chapter 4
I stared at the contract, lost in thought for a long moment.
For a second, I thought that fate wasn't as cruel as I had always believed.
At the very least, when I finally dragged myself out of the mess, it put out a hand.
I signed my name.
The first week back at work, I was running from morning to night with barely a moment to sit down.
Measuring spaces, running meetings, pulling all-nighters on drafts, handling the client, chasing suppliers, and it was almost midnight every time I got back to the apartment.
But this kind of exhaustion was nothing like slowly losing myself bit by bit in that marriage.
It reminded me that I was still alive.
The other kind had left me emptier every year, until I was nothing but a shell.
At first, Eric kept blowing up my phone with calls.
When I ignored him, he switched to texting.
He started with, "When are you coming back?" Then, "Can we talk?" And finally, "Are you done with this drama yet?"
I left every single message on read.
On the eighth day, he was waiting for me right outside my office.
I'd just wrapped up a meeting, carrying my laptop and a stack of blueprints, when I spotted him smoking by his car.
As soon as he saw me, he stubbed out his cigarette and hurried over.
"Laura," he called out.
I didn't even slow down.
He reached out to block my way. "Do you really have to be like this?"
"Get out of my way," I said coldly.
"You blocked me on everything, won't come home, and when I tried to see you at your apartment, the front desk wouldn't even let me in. Are you really planning to cut me out of your life for good?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
He looked genuinely caught off guard by how fast I answered, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"You're really doing all this over just one night?" he asked.
"Eric, do you seriously still think it was only about that one night?" I asked.
I looked him straight in the eye and pushed his hand away. "It wasn't one night. You showed me over and over that I was never your first choice. That night I finally stopped making excuses for you."
He was speechless.
After a moment of silence, he offered me the bag.
"I stood in line for an hour to get the corn chowder you love," he said.
I glanced at it and didn't take it.
"You got it wrong," I said.
"What?" he blinked, looking confused.
"I don't like corn chowder," I said evenly. "Sophia does."
Eric went rigid.
I sidestepped him and kept walking.
I took a few steps, then paused.
"Eric, you can't even remember what I like anymore. What makes you think I would ever come back?" I said, my voice flat and my chest empty.
After that, he stayed silent for a few days.
I thought maybe he was finally starting to accept reality.
But then, half a month later, I got a bank notification about a withdrawal.
From our joint account, 93 thousand dollars had been transferred out in one go.
The recipient was Sophia.
I stared at the message, almost thinking I was seeing things.
That account was our reserve for renovating the second bedroom and helping my parents move into a building with an elevator.
Most of that money was what I'd saved up over the years.
I dialed Eric's number without thinking twice.
This time, he picked up almost instantly.
"What's going on with the money?" I demanded.
There was a noticeable pause on the other end.
"What money?" he asked.
"The 93 thousand dollars that left our joint account went to Sophia. Eric, don't tell me you didn't know about it," I said.
After a few seconds, he sighed.
"Sophia's been setting up a dessert shop lately, but she's having trouble with cash flow. I lent her some money to tide her over," he said.
"Lent her?" I let out a bitter laugh. "You took our money and lent it to her?"
"She wrote an IOU," Eric replied.
"Why don't you just hand yourself over to her too?" I shot back.
"Laura, don't be so harsh," Eric said.
"Who's being harsh, me or you?" I stood in the hallway outside the conference room with my hands shaking. "You knew exactly what that money was for and you moved it without a word to me. Eric, what do you take me for?"
Eric's tone grew serious.
"I'll make sure she pays it back," he said.
"When?" I pressed.
"Three months at most," he replied.
"And if she can't pay it back?" I asked.
"I'll cover it for her," he said.
I suddenly had nothing left to say.
It turned out that some people were perfectly capable of playing favorites, and they did it as if they had every right to.