Page 7 of Walking Away

Jason’s eyes gleamed, black and sharp.

He leaned down, voice low and cold. “I don’t know when you thought you were in charge of this relationship, but let me assure you—you’re not.”

His fist clamped in her hair, yanking her hard across the floor.

White-hot pain shot through her scalp; tears sprang to her eyes.

“Jason, stop! You’re hurting me!” she cried, clawing at his hand. “Please stop!”

He didn’t.

The man she knew—the one who made her coffee just the way she liked it—was gone.

Her anger flared through the terror. “I want a divorce!” she screamed, her voice raw and shaking.

Jason froze for half a beat. Then his face twisted.

“Divorce? You want to divorce me? Try it—and see what it costs you.”

He lunged, straddling her, his hand clamping around her neck.

The room smelled of amber and vanilla—sweet and wrong—the same bath oil she’d poured into the water hours earlier.

She gasped, clawing at his wrists, desperate for air.

His weight pressed her down, squeezing, squeezing.

Spots burst at the edges of her vision.

He’s going to kill me. Right here. Right now.

She grabbed at anything she could reach—the sheet, his sleeve, skin.

Her nails raked across his wrist; he hissed and tightened his grip.

The shock that the man she thought loved her was going to kill her hit harder than the pain itself.

The man she had once loved stared down at her with dead eyes.

Everything went dark.

Chapter 5

Homecoming

Darcy

Darcy navigated the serpentine roads winding toward the mountain town of Sylva, North Carolina. The Blue Ridge Parkway twisted like a ribbon through the mountains, each curve revealing another secret—trees pressing close, then parting for endless views of forested ridges.

Out West, the mountains had been magnificent—vast skies, jagged peaks, snow-capped ranges, aloof as kings. But these were different. The Blue Ridge pressed in, intimate and green, wild with hardwoods and rhododendron. Honeysuckle tangled along the roadside. It felt personal—as if the mountains leaned close to whisper,You belong here.

She rolled the window down, letting the cool air rush in, carrying the roar of the river beside the road—water crashing over rocks, wild and alive. For a few moments, the tension she’d carried through too many nights on the road lifted, replaced by a peace she couldn’t explain. Something stirred deep in her.

When the town appeared, it felt like a jewel tucked between the hills. Main Street stretched before her, lined with brick storefronts and bright awnings. Hand-painted muralsbrightened alley walls, wind chimes tinkled from shop doors, and a street musician strummed outside a café, his case open for tips. A mural of the mountains themselves stretched across one building, as though the ridges had followed her straight into town. Breweries, cafés, and shops spilled warmth and color onto the sidewalks.

At the far end, rising like a sentinel, stood the courthouse perched high above the town—one hundred and four steps climbing the hill like a challenge. Its white columns seemed to glow in the last light, the golden dome catching fire against the purple ridges, visible from nearly every street like a compass point anchoring the town.

Darcy pulled over, cutting the engine to take it all in. She didn’t have words for it—it wasn’t exactly relief, nor joy, but something like a homecoming.