Chapter 5

Eleven hours later, the plane touched down in Canginnia.

I still had to catch a train to the project site. The busted wheel on my suitcase finally gave up at the platform.

So, I ended up lugging the suitcase in one hand and dragging my equipment bag with the other, looking for the ride for me in the freezing wind.

The project coordinator, Helen Ochoa, held up a sign with my name.

She didn't bother with a welcome when she saw my suitcase. "Safety training is at six tomorrow morning. If you're late, you can't board the boat.

"There's a washing machine in the dorm. Make sure your work clothes are dry tonight."

I nodded, "Okay."

Helen helped me hoist my suitcase into the car. She didn't ask about my personal life or why I'd suddenly decided to take a long-term posting.

The site was close to the harbor, a row of gray apartments. My room had a single bed, a desk, and two empty cabinets. Out the window, the red warning lights on distant wind turbines blinked slowly, like the night itself was breathing.

I dropped my luggage and headed to the supermarket to grab some food.

The labels were all in a language I couldn't read, and when I tried to pay, my card got flagged for a foreign transaction.

The line behind me kept getting longer, and no matter how much I rummaged through my bag, I couldn't find a backup card. In the end, Helen paid for me.

"Pay me back tomorrow," she said. "Don't forget."

She didn't bother with pleasantries, and she didn't try to spare my dignity because I was the new project lead.

Honestly, I felt relieved.

For the past three days, everyone had been pressuring me to decide on my marriage. Now, 5000 miles away, the only thing I owed was a supermarket bill.

Back at the apartment, I realized I'd bought the wrong salt.

It was powdered sugar, not salt. The pasta I made was so sweet that it made me gag.

There was no fork in the kitchen, so I swirled the pasta around a spoon. After I finished it, I tossed the whole thing, soup and all, in the trash.

As the trash can lid snapped shut, I suddenly felt tears prick my eyes.

It wasn't because I missed Dallas. It was that, for seven years, I'd rarely eaten dinner alone.

Even if Dallas was working late, he'd always check in to ask what I'd eaten. Whenever I landed where I went for my business trip, my first instinct was to let Samuel know I was safe.

After Charlotte came back, she'd sit at the table every night, waiting for me to bring dinner.

Now, there wasn't a single message on my phone I could reply to without feeling anxious.

Standing in that cramped kitchen, I finally felt the real price of walking away.

After training the next day, I went to a secondhand shop and picked up a pot, a fork, and a warm yellow lamp. The cashier rattled off something in the local language.

I didn't understand a word, so I pulled out my translation app. The people behind me sighed impatiently, and I hurried through checkout, ending up with two useless lightbulbs I'd never need.

Back at the apartment, I set the lamp on my desk.

The warm light glowed in the room. It still didn't feel like home, but at least it wasn't like a warehouse anymore.

While I was sorting through my documents, a ring slipped out of my passport and clattered to the floor.

It was the wedding ring Dallas had given me. I'd taken it off before leaving. I thought about tossing it, but ended up shoving it in my bag.

I picked up the ring and didn't beat myself up for feeling a bit sentimental.

Seven years didn't disappear with a single flight. And taking the ring with me didn't mean I wanted to go back.

I slipped it into an envelope and put it in the same drawer as the record of no marriage registration. One proved I'd truly believed, and the other showed how that trust had been taken advantage of.

That night, I got a reply from the property management.

Dallas and Charlotte were still living in the house, and Samuel stopped by every day.

The property management wanted to know what to do after the month was up, so I told them to change the locks when the deadline hit and have the movers log everything and send it to a storage unit I'd picked out.

I didn't put the house up for sale right away.

It was my parents' legacy, and the home I'd spent ten years fixing up myself. I wasn't about to sell it off cheap to prove I was moving on, and I definitely wasn't going to hand it over to the people who hurt me.

Dallas called from an unknown number. "You're seriously having the property management kick us out?"

"It's all spelled out in the notice," I replied.

"Lottie's only two months pregnant. She can't be stressed. I can move out, but let her stay until she gives birth."

"You can rent a place that's suitable for a pregnant woman."

"You were the one who invited her to move in."

"I invited a friend who'd gotten divorced and had nowhere to stay, not a woman pregnant with my husband's baby."

There was a long silence on the other end. "Kinley, I know you're angry. But before she came back, I really wanted to make things work with you."

"So, you never bothered to register our marriage for seven years?"

"At first, I was afraid you'd notice the date was wrong. Then, the longer I put it off, the less I knew how to explain it."

"You don't have to explain anything now."

"I can fly over right now."

"Don't come."

"We need to talk in person."

"I have training at six tomorrow morning."

Then I hung up, turned off my phone, and went to sleep.

That night, I only got three hours of sleep.

Missing Dallas wasn't the reason. The wind off the sea slammed against the window, sounding like someone knocking again and again.

I kept waking up, thinking I was still back home, expecting Dallas to reach out and hold me from behind.

When morning came, the other side of the single bed was still perfectly made.

I put on my heavy winter gear and showed up at the training room right on time.

The instructor asked for my emergency contact.

I instinctively started to write Samuel's name, but my pen paused over the empty line.

In the end, I filled in Alaina's number.