Evelyn Moore has spent years yearning for a love that always feels just out of reach. Her marriage to Leonard, a man of few words and a relentless focus on work, was never built on passion but on practicality. Yet, deep down, Evelyn hopes to break through the icy walls of his heart. Caught between the weight of betrayal and the shards of her own broken heart, Evelyn must decide: Is she willing to fight for a man who may never truly love her? Or will she find the strength to walk away from the life she thought she wanted? when her husband comes begging for her forgiveness, will she adhere and take him back?
View More“Yes. This is what the agent showed me,” the driver says as he steps down from the car, leaving me behind—confused and a little unsettled. I open the door slowly, stepping out and walking hesitantly toward the rusting gate in front of me. The paint is chipped off the metal, and there's a creaking sound as the wind gently nudges it back and forth.“This is not the apartment,” I mutter under my breath, frowning. “Are you sure we don’t need to call the agency?” I ask, turning to him, but he ignores my question. Without a word, he pulls my box out from the trunk and places it by my side.“Call them if you like, but I’m sure this is where I was instructed to take you. Number 42.” He points to a rusted iron plate bolted to the wall beside the gate. The numbers are barely legible, but they’re there—staring right back at me like a warning.I gasp, not hiding my disbelief. “Gush,” I whisper, fishing out my phone to dial the agent’s number. This can’t be it. I just passed the apartment I though
“Sit, please,” he says the moment I step into his office.It’s an artsy-looking space with warm brown tones, exposed brick walls, and the strangest combination of scents—peanut butter and flour. The smell hits me like a wave, and I nearly gag. I bite it back, willing my stomach to behave, and glide over to the lone brown single-seater positioned in front of his wooden desk. It creaks as I sit, and I force a polite smile.The office is far from tidy—brown envelopes and white sheets of paper are strewn across the desk and shelves like a hurricane had danced through. Still, there’s a strange kind of charm to it, like organized chaos, or maybe just plain chaos.He pulls open a drawer and retrieves a thick file, placing it with a soft *thud* on the desk. “You’ll sign this document,” he says, sliding the crisp white sheets toward me, “but only after payment has been confirmed.”I arch a brow, amused. “Venmo?”He nods, already unlocking his phone. I send the money, confirm the transfer, and
The only thing on my mind throughout the flight is the apartment. That apartment. It was all I could think of—white walls that looked like clouds, an open kitchen, and a bedroom that seemed to whisper rest. I already saw myself in there, curled up on the soft couch with a baby onesie resting on my belly and silence all around me. A peace I haven’t known in a long time.When the plane lands, I feel the weight in my chest lighten just a bit. As passengers stand and scramble for their bags, Lionel turns to me.“Let me get that,” he says, already reaching for my suitcase before I can respond. He rolls it for me until we reach the airport exit where taxis are lined up in a row, waiting for the next tired traveler.“This is my number,” Lionel says, handing me a small green card. “Just in case you get bored and need new company, call me.” And of course, he ends the sentence with another wink. Like it's just second nature to him.I smile softly as I take the card. “Thank you. Will do.”I watc
I turn around to see a set of familiar tanned, blue eyes staring at me."Hello," he says, stepping forward and positioning himself right in front of me.I blink, stunned into silence, my mind scrambling to match the face to a name. There’s something about him that strikes a chord, but the name? It just won’t come. I offer a nervous smile, stalling, pretending like I’m not absolutely blanking. I nod awkwardly, silently willing my brain to cooperate.He tilts his head slightly, eyebrows raised as if asking, Are you okay? And I can tell he’s caught on.I sigh and laugh a little under my breath. “Oh, hi… uhm…” I trail off, still smiling, hoping the curve of my lips will make up for my fading memory. I nod again, this time as if to say, Sorry, I forgot.It’s funny too—because he actually gets it. He chuckles, a rich sound that settles between us easily.“Lionel,” he says, helping me out. “From the beach.”God. Of course. Lionel. How could I forget that? It's such a simple name.“Yeah… Lion
I pace around, frustrated, my feet moving almost involuntarily across the glossy floors of the airport lounge. My hands cradle my back instinctively, trying to ease the aching tension that's been building all morning. The artificial light overhead feels too bright, like it's spotlighting my anxiety for the world to see.“What is happening? How long is this going to take?” a woman nearby snaps, her voice echoing off the cold walls as she corners one of the stewards. Her sharp tone mirrors the irritation bubbling inside me.“I don't know, ma'am, but you can just relax for a while, okay?” the steward replies, trying to keep calm under pressure. His words sound too rehearsed to offer comfort.I shut my eyes and inhale deeply, the air-conditioned breeze brushing my skin. This cannot be happening. Not today. Not when everything I've planned depends on getting to New York before sundown. Going back home isn’t an option. I burned that bridge two days ago when I hugged Maya goodbye and let my
While Maya talks to me and comforts me, my mind is far from the warm office space we’re sitting in, from what she's saying. I’m thinking of my next step, of everything that has happened, and how nothing makes sense anymore—until suddenly, it does. It all clicks together with a kind of frightening clarity. I’m going to leave Chicago. I’m going to take my baby and start all over again—this time, in New York.“I'm going to leave Chicago” I say abruptly, cutting her off mid-sentence.She pauses, blinking like I just spoke a different language. "What?”“I said, I'm leaving Chicago for good.” I repeated. My voice is clearer this time, firmer even.“Yeah, I heard you” she blinks her eye. “Where will you go? How will you manage on your own?” She asks. “To New York. I'll be fine eventually. So, don't worry much” I assure her. She reaches for my arm “don't you want me to come with you? I’ll quit my job and we’ll leave together. We’ve always figured things out together, haven’t we?” she says.
“Okay, let's do it,” he says, voice low but steady.He takes the paper from Clara and pulls a pen out from his pocket like he had been expecting this moment all along. Calm. Collected. Or so I thought. He sits down at the edge of the cream leather couch, paper balanced on his thigh, eyes scanning it quickly. But then, in a swift movement that startles even Clara, he bolts upright. The paper slips from his hand and flutters to the ground like a bird with broken wings.“I’m not signing this piece of shit. I’m not doing that,” he says, voice rising as he jabs a finger toward the paper that Clara now hurriedly picks up.I freeze, stunned by his sudden outburst.“Can we talk privately?” I ask, my voice soft but trembling.Before Leonard can respond, Clara turns to him with a pained look in her eyes. “Baby, is there anything you’re keeping from me?” she asks, voice dripping with disappointment and quiet suspicion. Her hands tremble slightly as she clutches the papers.Leonard’s eyes bounce
One week later, I'm seated in a cafe with Bar. Seb, sitting opposite me and two cups of coffee on our table. I still haven't heard from Leonard, not even a simple excuse for what happened. Sebastian brings out a file from his bag and places it on top of the table. “So,” he pulls out a document from the nude colored file. He pushes it towards me “Mr. Sinclair will sign this,” he says. “If he refuses, his company as a whole will be sued.” I take the paper document and go through it. When I'm done, I place it back on top of the table. Then, I sip my latte. “We'll invite him or book an appointment with him in his office” he explains but I shake my head, bringing the cup of coffee down from my mouth. “You don't have to worry about that. I'll take it to him.” I tell him.“Are you sure about this? He's a very stubborn person” he says and I tilt my head to the side wondering how he knows Leonard is stubborn or why he thinks so. “I mean,” he continues, feeding my curiosity. “People with as
As I leave my mailbox, a notification pops up on my screen. Reluctantly tapping on it, I open the notification coming from Instagram. It's a post made by Clara. It's a picture of her hands intertwined with Leonard's hand. A lot of viewers may not know it's Leonard, but I know my husband's hand anywhere I see it no matter how blurry. I sigh loudly, proceeding to unfollow Clara. Thinking about it now, I don't even know why I followed her in the first place. Maya immediately notices my mood. She plumps down to me and peeps into my phone. “What happened? Did he text you?” She asks. I wanted to ask her who but my instinct knows who she's talking about. So, I shake my head. “No, I saw something else.” I say and turn to her with an already teary eyes. “How could he do this to me? How? I loved him to much. So much I thought it was going to break me.” I sob. She pulls me closer into a hug. “If he had any respect for our marriage, he could have at least said something like ‘i want a divorc
Evelyn's POV I glance at my reflection in the mirror as I curl the last section of my auburn hair. The soft waves cascade over my shoulders, framing my face in a way that's beautiful. My makeup is light yet elegant—a touch of blush, a soft shimmer on my eyelids, and a nude lip gloss that enhances my natural look. Satisfied, I smile to myself, feeling a rare sense of hope bubble within me. He's going to love it—he’s going to love me. I smile to myself even more. I walk to my closet and retrieve the long purple dress I bought yesterday specially for this occasion. The fabric flows like liquid silk, and the color complements my fair complexion. I chose it because purple is Leonard’s favorite color—at least that's what I thought—and I wanted to wear something that would catch his eye. As I slip it on, I recall the one time Leonard complimented my hairstyle. His exact words were, “You look good with your hair like that.” That small moment had stayed with me longer than I’d like to ad...
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