Chapter 3
The plane touched down at JFK International Airport. The air in New York City was thick and loud, nothing like the dry cold back in my hometown.
Diane's team was waiting at the exit, holding up a sign and pulling me into a big hug.
"Welcome, Summer! Ms. Carter told us all about you, and she says you're the ace of this project," one of them said with a grin.
The kindness from these strangers left me a little overwhelmed, but deep down, a warm feeling spread through my chest.
Nobody gave me time for jet lag, and the very next day, I was thrown straight into the work.
Everything now ran with hard projects, back-to-back meetings, and a pace that never let up.
At first, it was a real struggle, but the sense of accomplishment I got from solving tough problems with my expertise was something I'd never known in my three years of marriage.
I was like a sponge tossed into water, soaking up everything around me.
My work earned everyone's respect quickly, and even the pickiest client on the account couldn't help but praise my proposal.
By the end of the first week, I got my first paycheck.
Walking through downtown Manhattan past window after window of things I'd never let myself want, I ended up in a cafe without deciding to.
I ordered an expensive pour-over that cost seven dollars.
That was what a week of groceries used to cost me back home.
I sat by the window, sipping it slowly.
The bitterness and the richness spread across my tongue, and out of nowhere, I wanted to cry.
This wasn't coffee.
This was the taste of freedom.
It was the nerve that came from paying my own way with money I'd earned.
With my first paycheck, I rented a tiny apartment not far from the office.
It wasn't much, but the sunlight poured in.
I bought fresh flowers, scented candles, and a soft rug.
Piece by piece, I turned that small space into somewhere that felt like mine.
Every day after work, I hit the gym, sweating out three years' worth of pent-up feelings.
I signed up for a language class so I could speak foreign language like a local.
My days were packed, and I was worn out, and for the first time in years, I felt alive.
A week went by.
It hit me that I hadn't thought about Jonathan once.
His face and his voice had already gone blurry and unreal in that bright new world.
On Friday night, my team suggested we hit up a weekend party.
"Come on, Summer. Loosen up, you need this!" one of them said.
I looked at their young, genuine faces, hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.
The party was in a penthouse apartment. The music was deafening, with colorful lights pulsing overhead, and people were laughing and chatting, drinks in hand.
I was wearing a simple black dress, hanging back in the corner, feeling a bit out of place.
A guy came over and tried a few words of my language, accent and all.
"Hey, I'm Mike Anderson. Are you new here? You're really pretty," he said.
His gaze was straightforward and genuine, without a hint of creepiness.
I blushed a little, but managed a polite response.
We chatted about work, New York City, and our hometowns.
It surprised me how easy and natural it was to talk to a man.
When I was with Jonathan, I hardly had any social life.
He hated it when I tried to hang out with friends, and absolutely forbade me from even socializing with any other guys.
He said it wasn't how a proper wife behaved.
At midnight, I stood out on the terrace with the New York wind on my face, watching the headlights below run together into a river of gold.
Suddenly, I found myself thinking about the last three years.
Those days felt like a long, suffocating nightmare.
My whole world used to revolve around him, that freezing house, and the soul-crushing routine that drained me day after day.
I'd turned into an extension of him, a so-called good wife with no voice and no feelings of her own.
But now, here I was, halfway across the world in a place that was completely new to me.
For the first time in my life, I was living for myself.
This feeling of freedom was something I'd never tasted in my life.
I took out my phone and turned off the airplane mode I'd left on for a week.
I didn't even bother to check for missed calls or messages.
I opened my contacts and found the name I'd kept pinned at the top.
Jonathan Reed.
I stared at that name, like I was looking at a stranger.
Then I deleted his number and blocked him.
Goodbye.
This was goodbye for good.
*****
Jonathan came home late that night.
He'd had way too much to drink, and his stomach was churning.
"Summer, get me a glass of water!" he shouted out of habit.
No one answered.
The living room was pitch black, with only the motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on.