Chapter 2
By the time I finished, Stacey screeched her car to a stop right in front of me.
She jumped out, and when she saw the blood on my pants, her eyes went red—anger and worry mixing together. "That son of a bitch Herman..."
"Hospital first," I said, grabbing her hand. "Stacey, I need you to help me disappear. From this moment on, I'm gone."
Stacey just stood there, stunned.
"I want Herman to believe I'm dead," I said.
*****
I was stuck in that hospital bed for a whole week.
The baby was gone. The doctor said I barely made it out alive after that fall. Stacey never left my side during this time, crying her heart out. She cried even harder than I did.
"Arianna, are you really going through with this?" Stacey asked as she drove. It was the day I got discharged. "That psycho Herman—if he ever finds out you tricked him..."
"He won't," I replied, watching the city blur past outside the window. "Stacey, I'm heading to Riverside City. Is my new identity ready?"
"All set," she said, handing me a file folder. "Evelyn Wright, 25, parents gone, just back from abroad, jewelry designer—same as your real profession. The ID, passport, and diploma are all legit. I pulled strings through three layers of contacts. Herman won't be able to trace it."
I checked the new ID. The woman in the photo had gentle eyes, looked a lot like me, but her vibe was completely different. Arianna was a vine, always dependent on Herman. Evelyn was a tree, strong enough to stand on her own.
"I've also found you a place—a house in the old part of Riverside City. It's quiet, and the neighbors are all elderly. No one will bother you," Stacey said, pausing. "But Arianna, are you sure about this? Once you leave, you might never be able to come back."
"I never intended to come back," I replied.
The car pulled up at the train station. Stacey hugged me, her voice thick with emotion. "Make sure you get the money every month. That bastard Herman has to pay for what he did!"
"I know," I said.
I rolled my little suitcase into the station. Inside were just a few clothes, a diary, and a copy of the ultrasound for the baby who never even got a chance at life. I'd snuck it out of my medical file.
As the train pulled away, my phone pinged with a text.
From an unknown number: [Arianna, where did you go? Mary said you haven't been home for a week.]
It was Herman.
I hit block.
Ten minutes later, another number texted me: [Quit playing games. Isn't the 1.5 million dollars on the card enough for you? Just name your price.]
I blocked that one, too.
A third number popped up: [Answer the phone!]
This time, I replied: [Mr. Foster, I've already signed the divorce papers and mailed them to your office. From now on, please don't contact me.]
He shot back almost instantly: [Where are you? I'll come pick you up.]
I didn't bother replying.
As the train rolled out of Hillcrest City, my phone buzzed with a bank alert. 1.5 million dollars, just like that, dumped into my account. The memo just said: [Come back.]
I stared at all those zeros and couldn't help but scoff.
Herman, you still don't get it.
It was never about the money. I want you to feel what it's like to lose everything, just like I did.
From that day on, every fifth of the month, 1.5 million dollars would hit my account. Never missed, not once. It was like he was honoring some shameful deal. Stacey helped me set up a new account, and every cent just sat there, untouched.
*****
I settled down in Riverside City. The house was old, but there was a dogwood tree in the small garden. Every spring, it bloomed with white flowers. I changed my name, cut my hair, and started wearing clear glasses. The woman in the mirror looked more and more like a stranger.
Sometimes, I'd catch myself wondering. Was this really the same Arianna who burned her hands learning to cook for Herman? Who stayed up all night reworking plans just because he said so? Who spent hours melting over a single tear he shed?
The old Arianna was gone.
She died that day, in a pool of blood at the bottom of those stairs.
Now, I was Evelyn.
I landed a job at the biggest jewelry design studio in Riverside City. The boss, Sharon Harper, was in her fifties.
When she looked over my designs, her eyes lit up. She said, "You've got talent and a bit of resentment in your work. Tell me, did you just get dumped, sweetie?"
"Widowed," I replied, deadpan.
Sharon patted my shoulder. "Just focus on your work, girl. Men are garbage. Money's the only real family."
I smiled. It was the first genuine smile I'd had in three months.