Souls Remember What Matters — Corey Gibson 5
om them.
I walked away from my husband and my daughter and the woman who was stealing my life piece by piece and I didn’t look back, not once.
When I got home, the house was quiet and dark. All the guests had left. The piano was closed. Empty glasses sat on tables like ghosts of the party that was supposed to be for me.
I climbed the stairs to my bedroom—the room that was only mine because Darius and I never shared a room.
I got pregnant only because we both accidentally got drunk and lost our inhibitions that night.
He claimed the only reason we didn’t share a room was because he didn’t want to wake me when he came to bed late from work. But I knew the real reason.
He couldn’t stand being that close to me anymore.
I pulled my biggest suitcase out of the closet and opened it on the bed. My hands shook as I started folding clothes and putting them inside. Dresses, shoes, pictures of Luna when she was a baby.
I wasn’t running away. I was going back to who I used to be five years ago.
Before Darius. Before marriage. Before I learned what it felt like to have your heart broken by the two people you loved most in the world.
If I divorced Darius now, he would probably get to keep Luna. Men with money and powerful families usually won in court, especially when the wife looked crazy and jealous. Especially when there was a sweet, dying woman ready to be the perfect stepmother.
Vivienne would get everything she wanted. My husband, my daughter, my life.
But she didn’t really love Luna. I could see it in the way she looked at my daughter—like Luna was useful for getting what she wanted, not like she was a precious little person who needed love and protection.
I wouldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let that woman raise my child.
If Vivienne wanted a fight, I’d give her one.
I zipped up the suitcase and pulled it off the bed. It hit the floor with a heavy thud that seemed too loud in the quiet house.
At my computer, I found the earliest flight to New York. My fingers trembled as I typed in my credit card number.
Click.
Purchase complete.
The flight left in six hours.
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my reflection in the dark window. The woman looking back at me had bandaged hands and tired eyes, but something else too.
Determination.
For four years, I’d been the perfect wife. The quiet, obedient woman who never caused trouble. Who let her husband’s ex-girlfriend waltz back into their lives and charm everyone while I stood in the corner like furniture.
No more.
I grabbed my purse and my suitcase and walked out of the house that had never really felt like home anyway.
The taxi ride to the airport felt like a dream. Street lights blurred past the window while I practiced what I would say when I got to New York.
I knew exactly where I was going. The address was burned into my memory from five years ago, when everything started falling apart.
The plane was mostly empty. I sat by the window and watched the city get smaller and smaller below me until it disappeared into darkness.
Hours later, I stood outside a familiar door in Manhattan. My heart pounded as I raised my hand to knock.
This was where it all began. Maybe this was where it would end too.
I knocked three times and waited.
The door opened, and there he was. Johnson.
“Sera? God, I’ve missed you so much. Did you finally remember you have an old friend who’s been waiting for you?”
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