Chapter 12 · Three Years to Freedom

Chapter 12

Damon was silent for a couple of seconds."What are you afraid of?" he asked.Maeve looked up. "I'm scared you'll get caught up because of me.""I'm scared you'll get caught up because of me," she said.She was surprised at herself as soon as she said it.'When did I start getting scared of this?' Maeve thought to herself.Damon looked at her, his smile slow and gentle. It wasn't a showy grin, just the corners of his mouth turning up, and a soft crinkle at his eyes."Maeve," he said quietly."Yeah?" she answered."I'm thirty-three, not eighteen. I can handle everything that comes with you."Maeve's eyes stung with unshed tears.She turned away, pretending to be interested in the sycamore trees lining the street. Most of their leaves were already gone.Damon said, "Take your time to think it over. No rush."He held out his hand, palm up.Maeve stared at his hand. His fingers were long and slender, and there were faint calluses on his palm. They were marks from years of riding.She didn't take his hand, but she pulled her scarf a little tighter around herself."I'll think about it," Maeve said."Alright," Damon replied.They walked on together. Their shadows crossed under the streetlight for a moment, then drifted apart.After Maeve got back to her apartment, she took a shower and sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time.Her scarf was still draped over the back of the chair. The scent of pine filled the whole room.She picked up her phone and scrolled through her chat history with Damon.From the very first message: [Here's the contact for the riding instructor.] to the latest one: [Meet at the steakhouse at seven.]After four months, there were over sixty messages. Not a lot, but every single one mattered.There were no sweet nothings, no empty flattery.Then, Maeve opened her chat with Victor.The last message was from two months ago. Victor sent a photo of Kayla's newborn daughter, captioned: [Baby number two. Your turn next.]Maeve stared at it for three seconds, then closed the chat.She set her phone down on the bed and curled up at the headboard, hugging her knees.The scent of gardenias drifted in from the balcony. The night breeze made the curtains billow and fall, like the room was breathing.Maeve buried her face in her knees.She was thinking about how a man she'd only known for four months had told her, "I can handle everything that comes with you."She was thinking of the hand he used to hold her waist, the precise way he used to grill, the way his fingertips brushed her earlobes when he unwrapped the scarf around her neck, probably unintentionally."Maeve, get a grip," she told herself.She thought she was a woman whose ex-husband had tricked her into a fake divorce. A player still making her moves, waiting for her chance to strike back.She still had a whole hand of cards she hadn't shown yet.'And now, of all times, I'm actually catching feelings?' Maeve thought.She looked up at the ceiling.'But the problem is, the heart doesn't stop because you tell it to,' Maeve thought.*****A week later.Saturday. At the stables.After her riding session, Maeve headed to the café as usual.When she pushed open the door, Damon was already sitting in their usual spot. There were two cups of coffee on the table: a black coffee and an oat milk latte.The oat milk latte was hers. He remembered.Maeve sat down, her fingers curling around the warm cup."Damon," she said."Yeah?" he replied."I've made up my mind."He stopped flipping through his book.Maeve looked at him. "There's a lot I haven't told you, about my ex, about why I left him, and what I'm up to these days."Damon closed his book and set it on the table, giving her his full attention."If you want to talk, I'm all ears," he said.Maeve took a deep breath.Then she began her story from the very start.She spoke about her five years of marriage, about her ex, Victor, cheating on her, about how she endured it all alone for two years.She told him about the fake divorce agreement, about earning new qualifications, changing jobs, hiring a lawyer, and carefully laying out her escape plan, step by step.Maeve spoke slowly, as if she were turning the pages of an old photo album. Some pages were stuck together, and she had to peel them apart.Damon listened quietly the whole time. He never cut her off, never frowned, and kept his expression calm. No pity, no anger.He watched her closely, occasionally giving a small nod.By the time Maeve finished, her coffee had gone cold.Maeve's voice was rough. "So, my situation isn't exactly clean-cut right now. On paper, we're divorced, but in reality, it's a mess. He still thinks I'm waiting for him to come back.""You're not going back," Damon said.It wasn't a question.Maeve shook her head. "No. Never.""That's all I need to know," Damon said.Maeve looked up.Damon leaned in a bit, his arm resting on the table."Maeve, I don't care what your past looks like. What matters to me is where you're headed," he said.His gaze was steady, like the surface of a winter lake."Wherever you go, I'll be right behind you. If you need time, I'll wait. If you've got unfinished business, take care of it. I'm not going to push you, and I'm not walking away because of any of it," he added.Maeve's nose tingled. She dropped her gaze, fixated on her now-cold latte. A foggy layer of mist clung to the cup."Aren't you scared?" she asked, her voice muffled.

Chapter 12