CHAPTER SIX

I was humiliated, completely humiliated. I couldn’t believe my life had flipped upside down in the past 24 hours. Yesterday morning, everything was fine. Jack had kissed me on the cheek and told me to have a great time with Amy at lunch, even saying he’d see me when I got back. How in the world had everything gone so horribly wrong in such a short time? It was like the foundation of my life had crumbled right beneath my feet, and I had no idea how to stop the fall.

My thoughts kept racing, replaying every interaction we’d had over the past few weeks, searching for signs I’d missed. But none of it made sense. Jack left me out of the blue, his parents’ smug satisfaction as they handed me divorce papers... It was like I had stepped into a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.

I was so lost in my head that I didn’t notice the light turning red until a loud beep jolted me back to reality. I glanced to my side, eyes wide, as a car came barreling toward me from the opposite direction. I slammed on the gas and swerved just in time, my heart pounding in my chest as the car sped past me.

"That was close!" I muttered, my breath shaky. I almost caused an accident.

Forcing myself to focus on the road, I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to suppress the rising panic. I had to pull myself together. By the time I reached the penthouse, the anger that had been simmering inside me had begun to bubble over. The images of Karen and William’s smug faces flashed in my mind, their condescending tones echoing in my ears.

How could they be so cruel? How could Jack, my Jack, send them to do his dirty work while he hid like a coward?

Every corner of that place was filled with memories of Jack and me. of our life together. Could I live in a space that now felt so hollow, so tainted by betrayal?

Everywhere I looked were traces of our life together. Photos of us smiling, arms around each other, in front of monuments we’d visited on our travels, celebrating anniversaries, holidays, birthdays. They were scattered throughout the living room, decorating the walls and shelves like painful little ghosts of a life that no longer existed.

The rage hit me hard, like a freight train slamming into my chest. My eyes landed on a framed photo of us from a trip to Greece, both of us smiling against a backdrop of the Acropolis, and I felt a surge of fury so intense it nearly blinded me. Without thinking, I reached out, grabbed the frame, and hurled it across the room. The sound of glass shattering against the wall was satisfying, almost cathartic.

I didn’t stop there. I grabbed another picture and threw it with all my strength, watching as it smashed into a million tiny pieces on the floor. Then another. And another. It felt good, so good to destroy every reminder of what we had been, of the man I thought I knew.

Before I realized it, I was on a rampage. I ripped photos from the walls, overturned tables, and pulled books off the shelves. The more I wrecked, the more relieved I felt. I trashed everything that reminded me of Jack, the vase we bought on our honeymoon, the gifts he’d given me for our anniversaries, the throw pillows we picked out together. I wasn’t just breaking things, I was smashing the life we had built together, a life that was now nothing more than a lie.

By the time I stopped, the living room was in shambles. Glass shards littered the floor, photo frames were broken and scattered everywhere, and the walls looked bare, stripped of the happy memories that had once filled them. I stood in the center of the wreckage, chest heaving, hands trembling, as the adrenaline drained from my body.

And then, just as quickly as the anger had taken over, it dissolved into something else, something darker. Grief. Heartbreak. I sank to my knees in the middle of the room, tears spilling down my face as the weight of everything hit me all at once.  The love of my life had walked out on me without a word, without a goodbye, and I was left with nothing but shattered memories and an empty, broken heart.

I couldn’t stay there. I had to get out.

I wiped the tears from my face, stood up, and stumbled toward the bedroom. I couldn’t leave the house in the same clothes I’d worn to beg for answers from Jack’s family. I needed something to distract myself, to feel alive again, even if just for one night.

I rifled through my closet until my fingers brushed against the fabric of the slutty red dress I’d bought for my birthday. It was supposed to be a surprise for Jack a little something to spice things up for our celebration. Now it felt like the perfect thing to wear to forget about him. I slipped it on, letting the silky material cling to my body. Then, I did my makeup, going heavier than usual dark eyes, bold lips transforming myself into someone else. Someone who didn’t care. Someone who didn’t feel.

When I looked in the mirror, the woman staring back at me was a stranger. Confident, seductive, and completely indifferent to the mess of a life she’d left behind. It was exactly what I needed to be.

I grabbed my purse and keys, took one last look at the wrecked penthouse, and walked out the door. The city streets were alive with people, with lights, with noise, everything I needed to drown out the ache in my chest. I drove to the bar downtown that I used to go frequently with friends back in the day. It was dark, loud, and filled with people who were also trying to forget. It was perfect.

I parked and made my way inside, the thumping music vibrating through my bones as I headed straight for the bar was amazing. "Whiskey, neat," I told the bartender, my voice loud to be heard over the pulsing bass.

As I waited for my drink, I scanned the room. Couples dancing, people laughing, strangers flirting at the bar. It was as if none of them had a care in the world. I envied them. But tonight, I would be one of them. I was done feeling sorry for myself. I needed to forget.

The bartender slid the whiskey toward me, and I grabbed it, downing it in one go. The burn in my throat was welcome, a distraction from the pain that still simmered beneath the surface.

I ordered another drink. Then another. Soon enough, I was lost in the haze of alcohol, the music, the swirling lights. I felt exactly how I wanted to feel. For the first time since Jack left, I wasn’t thinking about him. I wasn’t thinking about anything at all.

It felt good. Even if it was only for tonight.