The Weight Of Freedom

CHAPTER FOUR.

Alex 

The previous two weeks have been a haze, but I suddenly feel alive. Alessia Is back. It's as if all of the missing parts of my life have been reunited. Those years without her made me feel like I was living in someone else's skin, a stranger in my own life. With Alessia gone, I basically went through the motions, praying for her return. And now she's back from Paris with her PHD, eager to continue up where we left off. The love of my life has come home, and nothing—no one—will stop us.

My mom was quite thrilled when I informed her about Alessia's return and my intension.

“You have to be fast about it, Alex” she had remarked later, leaving me with the strength that I needed.

But, as much as I want to dwell in the joy of Alessia 's return, I can't escape the reality I've been stuck in. Camilla. 

That marriage was never my choice. It was my father's. He placed a leash on me, forcing me to mask the agony I felt when Alessia fled. He told me to carry on. "You'll grow to love her," he guaranteed. "Camilla will be good for you." I never did. Even now, as I stand on the point of fleeing this phoney marriage, I can feel the weight of my father's hand pressing me in. How could I defy the man I regarded most?

As I approach the house, my determination deepens with each step. It had been three days since my departure. I was with Alessia , of course, enjoying the time we never got to spend together before she departed to France. 

It was not her decision to forsake me. I understand now. Her father pushed her to study abroad, believing that a lady like her needed more than simply marriage to realise her full potential. He's correct in some aspects, but it almost ended my life.

Alessia means everything to me. When she departed without saying a word, I believed she didn't care enough to fight for us. That agony was what pushed me to alcohol, to crazy nights that blurred into one another. Until my father interfered.

And then there was Camilla.

Camilla never had a chance. I didn't hate her, but I also couldn't love her. How could I? My heart was still with Alessia. 

My father died six months after we got married, which was the last nail in the coffin. Without him, there's nothing connecting me to this life with Camilla except Alessia's absence, and now that she's back, I can finally carry out what I've been preparing for years. 

The driveway is silent. 

Her car is still here, she has not gone yet. Good. This must occur face to face. She deserves it, at the very least.

When I walked inside the house, it felt colder than it has ever been. The rooms never felt like home. I didn't spend much time here anyway—most of my evenings were spent at work or at my downtown apartment, away from the fake that was our marriage. I headed upstairs, she must be in the master bedroom. She persisted on remaining there, even when I went to the guest room, she stayed there, with the expectation that I would change my mind and be sleeping with her. I never did. I didn't have the energy to fight her about it. I Allowed her to keep the bed if she so much desired it. 

When I opened the door, there's nothing but silence. The bed was made, and the air, still. Where is she?

I proceeded around every corner, checking the kitchen, the living room. Still nothing. My heart quickens—why does the emptiness of the home seem so unnerving? Take bold, Alex But there’s something... off.

“Camilla!” I call out, my voice cutting through the emptiness. No response.

My eyes land on the bed. There it was. The envelope. I'm not sure whether she touched it since I left it three days ago. I gaze at it for a moment, uncertain whether I’m ready for what it holds. 

I’ve been so focused on getting her out, on restoring my life with Alessia, that I never paused to think about what it would actually feel like to end this. 

I never loved her, but that doesn’t mean it was easy to live this life. The quiet meals, the evenings of laying awake in different beds, each of us pretending the other wasn’t there - maybe not in her own case. Camilla never complained—not explicitly. But I saw the grief in her eyes, felt the tension every time we crossed paths. I was too much of a coward to confront it. I was constantly waiting for Alessia to come back, clinging on to the notion that my real life will restart one day.

And now, that day has arrived.

I took a deep breath as opened the package. As I brought out the divorce papers, a little letter dropped out, dropping on the floor. I bent to pick it up. Two words were written over the paper: "Thank you."

My gut twists at the words. I didn't comprehend. Why would she thank me? It wasn't meant to be easy for her—if it were, maybe she never cared, after all. Maybe she understood, deep down, that I could never love her. But nevertheless... everything felt too clean. Too final.

I glanced back to the papers. Her signature shone clearly on the white page. It's over. She's gone. The relief I anticipated did not come to play. Instead, I felt a flood of sorrow, worry, and possibly even regret. Three years. She tried for three years, expecting that I would come around. And now I'm standing here, with precisely what I thought I wanted: independence. However, the emptiness of the home weighs more than I thought. This is what I wanted, right? Alessia is back. I can live my life again. But why am I feeling... Guilty?

I threw the papers back onto the bed, straining my jaw. I cannot afford to feel guilty right now. This was always the plan. 

Camilla will be fine. She is better off without me. She deserved more than what I provided her. But, as I move around the quiet home, that nagging sense continues. 

It's not merely Camilla's absence that is upsetting me. It's the dread that, despite everything, I could have stolen something from her that I'll never be able to restore. And in doing so, I may

have lost a bit of myself too. But there is no turning back now.