Page 3

The morning light filtered through the bedroom blinds, softly, as if unsure whether it should intrude on the remnants of the night before. Natalie lay on her side in the guest room, her back to the window, cocooned beneath the duvet. She hadn’t moved for hours.

Sleep had come in broken fragments, a blur of shallow dreaming and long stretches of staring at the walls.

Her limbs were heavy, her throat dry. Around her, the room was still but not peaceful, as though it was absorbing her restlessness.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the plastered ceiling, her heart raw in her chest, her mouth a grim line.

This house had always felt like an extension of them.

A tastefully curated life wrapped in exposed brick and polished floors, scented candles and bookcases arranged with spines aligned like soldiers.

They had picked it out together, walked through every room arm-in-arm, imagining Sunday mornings and dinner parties and the children they might one day raise here. Now it felt like a mausoleum.

Natalie sat up slowly. Her muscles ached, her head pounded from lack of sleep, and something in her chest twisted with every breath.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the wood floor cool beneath her bare feet.

Immediately she thought of the lacy underwear she’d found on the floor of their room, now was gone, thrown it into the trash with a kind of grim finality, but the memory lingered, clear and savage.

She moved through the house like a sick person and poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen then leaned against the sink, watching a pair of pigeon’s peck at breadcrumbs on the windowsill.

The spring sunlight illuminated the soft gold of the cabinets, the stone countertops, the hanging copper pans, but it felt hollow, not a home and more like a lie.

What had all this been for? The silence was filled with questions she didn’t want to ask and answers she already knew.

Natalie padded into the living room and sank onto the couch, legs curled beneath her, arms one another.

The blanket draped across the back felt soft against her cheek as she rested against it.

She stared at the wedding photo on the mantle.

They were laughing in it. She was in ivory lace, her hair swept back in soft waves, her eyes bright with promise.

Giles was in a deep navy suit, his smile so easy, so sure.

They had been standing on the bluff in Martha’s Vineyard, the ocean behind them, the wind catching her veil like it was ready to carry her away.

Her cheeks had a flush from champagne and sun and happiness.

She closed her eyes, and the memory came flooding back.

The smell of salt in the air. The clink of glasses.

The way he whispered into her ear, "You make everything feel possible. "

She had believed him.

They had danced barefoot in the sand, his arms wrapped around her waist, her cheek against his shoulder.

Guests had gathered around a bonfire later that night, toasting marshmallows and singing to an old guitar, and she had looked at Giles, silhouetted in the firelight, and thought that it was forever.

But forever, she was learning, was fragile.

She stayed on the couch for over an hour, unmoving.

Her mind drifted between then and now, pinballing through fragments of memories: weekend hikes, shared recipes, the night he first told her he loved her beneath a canopy of Christmas lights.

The first time she stayed late at the clinic, and he brought her dinner, joking that he could never compete with a litter of kittens.

The warmth of his arms when she came home crying after losing a patient.

The way they used to reach for each other in sleep without even waking.

All of it felt like a story someone else had told her once, a fairytale that no longer made sense.

Finally, she stood. She couldn’t sit here all day, surrounded by ruins and memories and regrets. She needed air. No. She needed space.

The first chore Natalie tackled that morning was the hardest. Maria, the practice manager, someone she regarded as a good friend and not just a colleague, listened in silence and confidence while Natalie explained what she’d walked into the evening before.

And after asking for privacy and compassionate leave which Maria granted in a beat, Natalie quickly ended the call.

She couldn’t bear sympathy or kindness, it was too much and would break the barrier she was building around herself.

Then she sat at the kitchen table, composing her thoughts, her laptop closed, the screen dark. A mug of untouched coffee cooled by her side. The silence of the house was loud and unforgiving. Every creak of the wood floors, every tick of the wall clock, only emphasized how alone she was.

She looked pale in the soft morning light, the shadows under her eyes like bruises from a battle she hadn’t meant to fight.

Her chestnut hair, usually smoothed and tied back with precision, fell in a loose, tangled braid down her shoulder.

She wore an old college sweatshirt and leggings, mohair socks warming her feet on the hardwood floor.

There was a rawness to her, an unguarded vulnerability in the slope of her shoulders and the tight line of her jaw.

A woman unraveling but still sitting upright.

She tapped her phone’s screen, found Olivia’s number, and stared at it for a long moment before pressing call. Her heart thudded, heavy and uncertain. She hadn’t spoken to Olivia in months, not out of choice or neglect, but life. Distance. Schedules. And now this.

The phone rang twice before Olivia picked up.

"Natalie?"

Her voice was warm, surprised. Familiar. Natalie closed her eyes and let the sound settle around her.

"Hi, Liv," she said, and her voice cracked just enough to betray everything she was trying to hold back.

A beat of silence followed, but Olivia was quick. "Tell me what happened."

Natalie swallowed, pressing her fingers to her temple. "It’s Giles. He… he was unfaithful. I found out last night."

Another pause. Then Olivia said quietly, "I’m so sorry, Nat. God, I wish I were closer."

"Actually... that’s why I’m calling. I need to get out of here. Clear my head. I know it’s asking a lot, but... is there any chance I could come stay with you for a while?"

Olivia didn’t hesitate. "Of course you can. You don’t even have to ask. The guest cabin is yours. Hell, I’ll go put fresh sheets on the bed myself."

Natalie smiled, tears brimming now. The relief of knowing she had a place to land, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, was overwhelming.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"When will you come? "

Natalie looked around the room. The house felt like a stranger to her now. "Today. If I can get everything packed."

"Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful driving, okay? Text me when you’re on the road."

"I will. And Olivia... thank you. Really."

They ended the call, and Natalie stared at her phone for a long time. Still no word from Giles. No text. No voicemail. No apology. Not even a question to ask if she was alright.

The truth of that settled over her like winter, chilling and absolute. She had been shattered the night before, torn open, and the man she had shared a decade with hadn’t even bothered to reach out. He was done. And somewhere inside, she was starting to be done, too.

Natalie stood and moved through the house with new purpose.

First, the garage below the house where she found what she needed then packed methodically.

Her fingers wrapped around framed photos and gently laid them into the boxes they’d used when they moved in.

Wedding pictures, travel snapshots, goofy polaroids from their first apartment.

Every image told a story she wasn’t sure she believed anymore.

The home was beautiful. A clean-lined modern design softened with old-world touches.

Muted colors on walls warmed by brass accents and natural wood furniture.

A bay window in the living room filled the space with afternoon light, always her favorite place to curl up with a book.

But now, the house felt like a showroom, all the warmth drained, all the softness gone.

Every inch polished and tasteful and hollow.

Natalie wandered into the bedroom again, opened the closet.

Her eyes scanned the neatly arranged rows of blouses and jackets, the familiar order suddenly annoying.

She went into to smallest bedroom they used for storage and tugged a large suitcase and overnight bag from the back corner, returned to the bedroom and placed them on the bed .

Her fingers moved on autopilot, pulling clothes from hangers, tossing them into the bag with mechanical efficiency.

Jeans, sweaters, her favorite boots. The green wool coat she always wore when she needed comfort.

A knit hat from a trip to Vermont. To the smaller bag she added a few books, a travel mug, her charger. She moved like someone escaping a fire.

When the bag was zipped, she walked to the window and stared down at the street. It was quiet on their block. A jogger passed, earbuds in. A man walked his golden retriever. Life was still happening, oblivious to the tectonic shift in hers.

Natalie closed her eyes. She didn’t cry.

She hadn’t cried yet. But something cracked inside her then, a tiny fissure.

The realization that she had held on for too long, to a man who had let go long ago.

She was leaving. She didn’t know for how long, or where exactly she would go.

But she needed time to remember who she was before the silence.

Before the empty dinners and cold sheets.

Before she became someone who accepted so little. She needed to remember how to breathe.

By midday, she had nearly everything ready.

Suitcases lined the entryway, taped boxes stood in neat stacks.

Her favorite books were packed. The houseplants would go to her neighbor.

She made lists, labeled containers, wiped down countertops.

There was something comforting in the work, an element of the carnage she could control.

Around two, she called her cleaner.

"Hi, Della. I wanted to let you know I’m going away for a while. Giles might be around, but I’m maybe not."

"Oh, okay, Natalie…” Della sounded confused but remained tactful. “Do you want me to stick to my regular hours?"

"Yes, please, and if you get here and there’s nothing much to do I’ll still pay you, don’t worry about that. Just keep an eye on the place for me. I might need your help with a few things, but I’ll be in touch about that soon. I just wanted you to know I’d be away."

There was a brief pause, and Della said gently, "Natalie, is everything okay?"

Natalie hesitated, then answered with honesty. "No. But I will be."

After she hung up, she stood in the foyer and looked around. The house was quiet again, but not in the same hollow way as before. This time, the silence felt intentional. Like it was bracing for a new chapter.

She double-checked the lights, unplugged the kettle, and picked up her purse. Her phone remained eerily silent. Still no message from Giles. Not even a placeholder text to feign concern. It was a kind of clarity. He wasn’t coming back. And maybe he didn’t deserve to.

She grabbed her suitcase and opened the door.

The air outside was crisp and clear. The sky overhead was pale blue, dotted with soft white clouds drifting slowly west. The tulips in the planter trembled in the breeze.

As she pulled the door shut behind her, she glanced back one last time.

The house looked unchanged. But she knew better now.

The walls held memories, yes. But in each room, there played a slow, sad song about the quiet death of love.

She turned the key, stepped down the stairs, and wheeled her suitcase to the car.

The street was alive with city sounds. Horns, footsteps, the occasional bark of a dog or children’s laughter.

The spring afternoon held a strange kind of beauty.

A season of beginnings blossoming all around her while her own world had just come undone.

That was when the final piece clicked into place.

The man she thought she had loved, the man who once held her hand in a vineyard and promised the world, wasn’t the man who had shared her bed last week.

That man hadn’t cared enough to fight. To fix.

To even reach out. And she didn’t owe him her suffering.

She climbed into her car, started the engine, and watched her building disappear in the rearview mirror.

With every mile, the ache in her chest loosened, just a little.

She passed the city limits, the skyline shrinking behind her, and turned onto the highway that would take her toward Colorado.

Toward Olivia. Toward whatever came next.

She didn’t know what she would find. Didn’t know how long she would stay. But for the first time in years, she was moving not because someone needed her, or because duty dictated it, but because she needed to. Because she was choosing herself. Because it was time.

The road stretched ahead, wide and open and waiting. Natalie pressed her foot to the gas. And she didn’t look back.