The rain taps lightly against the window, a soft, relentless patter that grates on my nerves. There was a time when I loved rainy days, when I thought those cold drops washed everything clean, leaving behind a sense of purity. I used to stand by the tall panoramic window, watching nature, weary and worn, rejoice in the healing moisture. Afterward, I’d step into my garden, breathing in the intoxicating air, gently lifting flowers weighed down by heavy raindrops, shaking off the water, and inhaling their enchanting fragrance.
That was before. All of it was before. Now... I feel nothing. Just emptiness.
I don’t have a garden anymore. I don’t have a home. Someone else will admire my beloved peonies. But will they care for them the way I did? I don’t have the strength to think about it anymore.
This grueling day is finally over. Today, a new me was born. The girl who believed so fiercely, who loved so deeply, but was betrayed—she’s gone. Dead. All that’s left is a shell.
You can’t open yourself up to people like that, can’t let them get so close. The closer they are, the more dangerous it becomes. You’re vulnerable. And when they stab you in the back, you realize how foolish you were.
I wish I could rewind life, see it all ahead of time, and shield myself from this bleeding wound inside. Mom says the pain will fade, leaving only bitterness behind. I don’t believe her.
Betrayal—it’s the worst thing I’ve ever feared, ever since Dad walked out on our family. It’s eaten away at my insides, killed my trust, my belief in happiness. I’ve lost everything. He shattered my life. My husband, the man I adored, looked up to as a role model, considered a real man, trusted with every word he spoke—it was all a lie. Everything reeks of deceit, even me. I can’t wash off this stench. The same image plays over and over in my mind. In our house, in our bedroom, on our bed—him and his mistress...
The illusion of happiness crumbled, dissolved like mist. It was nothing but a pathetic mirage. Happiness doesn’t exist; it’s a myth for naive girls like me. Nothing is real. I made it all up, spun fantasies, and lived in rose-colored glasses. Thanks, Denis, for ripping them off. Now I feel nothing. But that’s better than living in a made-up world where you’re loved, blind to the treachery behind your back.
“Sweetie, how about some tea?”
Mom. I’ve caused her so much trouble with my breakdowns and tears. Court hearings, property division—it’s all over now. Today, I’m flying out. To a new life, somewhere I can try to forget, erase these eight years from my memory, and just keep going.
“No, Mom, I’m not in the mood,” I try to smile, but I think I’ve lost that ability too.
I’ve never asked her how she got through her divorce from Dad. Not once did she show me her pain. Then again, what could I have understood? I was only ten. I suffered in my own way, thinking I’d been abandoned, while Mom comforted me, promising to do everything to make me a happy child. And she did. She worked herself to the bone, bought me the best of everything, took me on vacations, supported every dream I had. She had me to keep her going. But what about me? Who do I hold on for?
Whenever I brought up having a child, my husband brushed it off. Said we were young, had so much to do first, that we’d have a baby later.
I’m alone now...
The only silver lining in this mess is that Mom isn’t alone. Three years ago, she met a man who helped her love again. I’m at peace knowing she’s taken care of.
As I fly into the unknown, I’m not scared. There’s just one thought pounding in my head: to lock up and protect what’s left of my soul. I don’t want to hurt anymore, don’t want to trust, will rely only on myself, and never love again. Though I don’t think I’m capable of love anymore. That part of me has burned out.
“Alice, honey, make sure to text me as soon as you land,” Mom says, walking beside me, holding my arm. The airport is packed, and the chaotic movements of the crowd make my head throb.
“I will, Mom. I’ll let you know the second I’m there.”
“Your flight’s boarding,” Michael, Mom’s partner, says as he approaches. “Chin up, Alice. This is the right move.” He gives me a tight hug.
“Thanks, Michael. Take care of her,” I whisper. He winks and steps back, leaving Mom and me alone.
Tears stream down her cheeks. She tries to hide her worry, but she’s not fooling anyone.
“Mom, everything’s going to be okay. I’ll be fine. I’ve got money, I’ll find a job, and I’ll get myself together.”
“You’ll bounce back, I know it. You’re strong, sweetheart. If you don’t like it there, come home. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know, Mom. Thank you,” I say, hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek before turning abruptly and heading to the gate without looking back. I can’t cry. I promised myself I wouldn’t.
On the plane, I try to escape my thoughts by opening a book. I stare at the pages for a long time but can’t read a single line. There was a time when reading a few pages of my favorite author after a tough day was the best remedy. I hope new habits will come with time.
A thought crosses my mind: What would I have done if Kate hadn’t called me that day? I was lying in my old room at Mom’s house, wallowing in self-pity for days on end. True friends must have a sixth sense for when someone close needs them. Kate’s my only real friend. Back in seventh grade, her parents moved to America. We’ve only seen each other three times since, but our friendship never faded. She called, already sensing something was wrong. I poured out everything, all the pain bottled up in my soul. She listened for a long time without interrupting, then said firmly:
“Get the divorce, and I’m expecting you here. If you don’t want to stay, fine, just come visit and get your head straight. Don’t you dare wallow in self-pity—it’ll only make things worse. Pull yourself together and hang in there, no matter how much it hurts.”
“I’ll try, Kate,” I replied through sobs.
“That’s my girl! And... hey, I’m with you. I love you.”
“Love you too. I’ll come.”
Outside the plane window, it’s pitch black. All the normal passengers are asleep, but I can’t close my eyes. Lately, my ability to sleep has malfunctioned. I manage a few hours at most before waking from the same nightmare. I’m running down a narrow, dark hallway, my trembling hands trying to open any door, but they’re all locked. Someone’s chasing me. Tears stream down my face from fear and cold. When I reach the last door and grab the handle, it gives way. The door opens. I did it, I’m saved! But I don’t make it inside in time. My pursuer stabs me in the back with a knife. Sharp pain pierces through me, and I scream. That’s when I wake up, taking forever to come back to reality. If this keeps up, I’ll have to see a therapist.
It’s all these thoughts. They won’t leave me alone, buzzing in my head like annoying flies, replaying the same scenes. My shaking hands packing my things, tears rolling down my face in streams. Denis running around the room, trying to talk to me. Talk about what? I saw everything with my own eyes. What’s the point of excuses now? He grabs my shoulders, trying to stop me. I shove him away with all my strength, screaming that he ruined everything, destroyed our family. He gets angry, yanks my wrist hard, leaving bruises, shakes me like a rag doll. Blames me, says I drove our life to this point. How, exactly? By working tirelessly for our family? I storm out of the house, get in the car, slam on the gas, and for a few seconds, my gaze lingers on our home. Behind it is my garden, my dream. I poured so much of myself into it. Every client who saw the photos chose our team without hesitation.
I’m a designer, a pretty well-known one. I have my own team, my own style, and a lot of untapped energy. Or at least, I used to...
My husband always hated my job. He’d pick fights when I stayed late, got jealous over nothing. Kept saying we could live off his income, that I should be a loyal wife—or in my mind, a lapdog—waiting at home with a hot dinner. But I loved my work and invested so much to become who I am. He owns a small hardware store, with steady income in spring and summer, but in the colder months, the business barely breaks even. Once, Denis said a wife shouldn’t outshine her husband. But what was I supposed to do? I had tons of orders. I wanted to contribute to our family budget. Too bad I was the only one who celebrated my successes.
We were divorced within a month. Lawyers handled everything; I didn’t speak to my ex-husband again. The house was put up for sale. A place like that didn’t stay on the market long. Once the deal closes, half the money will hit my account. This chapter is over—painful and heavy, but it’s my life lesson. A brutal one, but I didn’t get to choose.
Everyone reaches a point in life where they realize the past is gone. There’s just you, and there’s now. Right now, I’m on a plane. In ten hours, I’ll be in New York, seeing my friend and stepping into a new life. No matter how it turns out, I’m not going back to my past, to my old home.
I managed to doze off, but not for long. I woke up to my seatmate fidgeting. She dropped something and was now frantically searching for it under the seat.