Chapter 7
Ray’s calls continued to come, each one vibrating insistently in my pocket as I stood in line at the airport security checkpoint. My fingers hovered over the phone for a moment before I powered it off with a flick of my thumb. I slipped it into my bag, inhaled deeply and stepped forward. The metallic beep of the scanner and the chatter of travelers around me seemed distant, muffled beneath the pounding of my heart.
When my belongings emerged on the conveyor belt, I carefully slid my shoes. back on, my movements deliberate. Among my items sat a small velvet box containing my wedding ring. I opened it one last time, gazing at the modest band adorned with at few small diamonds. Once, it symbolized a future I believed in. Now, it felt like a chain I needed to break free from. Without a second thought, I left the box behind, walking away without looking back.
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The ring sparkled under the harsh airport lights, as I disappeared through the gates. From this moment on, Ray and I were
strangers–strangers with no bridges to
reconnect.
***
At the grand estate where the wedding was to take place, Ray’s fury erupted like a storm when I failed to arrive. The whispering guests, the astonished stares and the pitying glances were daggers to his pride. He stormed out of the venue, his jaw clenched and drove home at breakneck speed.
The mansion greeted him with an eerie stillness. The once–cozy space felt colder, emptier. His frantic search of the rooms confirmed his growing dread–my wardrobe was barren, the drawers stripped bare. It was as if I had erased myself from
the house.
His gaze landed on the living room wall. The painting I had lovingly created for him.
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was gone. A hollow ache spread through
his chest.
“Lucy!” he bellowed, his voice raw.
The housekeeper appeared hesitantly from the kitchen, wringing her hands. “Mr. Palmer, Miss Susan… left this morning. Jimmy drove her to the airport around six.”
Ray’s breath caught. “The airport?”
Lucy nodded and stepped forward, holding a crumpled piece of paper. “I found this in the bedroom trash can.”
The sight of the document, creased and smudged, sent a shiver through him. The words [Post–Abortion Recovery] were emblazoned across the top, stark against the white paper.
Ray’s legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the floor. His breaths came in. shallow gasps as the paper trembled in his hands. “She was… pregnant?” he
whispered, his voice breaking.
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Tears streamed down his face, his cries echoing through the silent house. “Why didn’t I know? How could this happen? She wouldn’t leave me… She wouldn’t….”
Suddenly, a voice from the living room snapped him out of his despair. The television blared, the news anchor’s grave tone slicing through the air:
“This morning, Flight 378 from Arlington to New York’s JFK Airport encountered severe turbulence and failed to land safely. Tragically, all passengers onboard were lost, with no survivors reported.”
Ray’s face turned ashen, his pulse quickening. My parents lived in the U.S.–it was the only place I could have gone. Panic consumed him, the room spinning as his worst fears took root.
Desk
For days, Ray refused to sleep, glued to the TV as it replayed scenes of the wreckage. He neglected his business, his usually
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immaculate appearance reduced to disheveled chaos. When the airline finally contacted him to confirm the victims‘ remains, his heart shattered all over again.
At the crash site, the sight of a small, familiar diamond ring among the debris drove the last ounce of hope from his soul. He fell to his knees, clutching the tiny piece of jewelry as sobs wracked his body.
***
Three years vanished in a blink, the world indifferent to the lives it carried.
Paris was drenched in rain, the
cobblestone streets slick with reflections of the city’s warm lights. In a quaint café, I sat by the window, my sketchpad open, a steaming cup of espresso within reach. My pencil moved with precision, capturing the details of the rainy scene outside. The soft hum of conversation around me faded into the background as I worked.
The bell above the door jingled as a new
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customer entered. I barely glanced up
a deep, familiar voice cut through the quiet.
“Susan… is that you?”
until
My hand froze, the pencil suspended mid- stroke. Slowly, I turned to face the source. of the voice.
Ray stood there, his eyes wide with
belief and something else–desperation. s once–pristine suit clung awkwardly to is frame, damp from the rain and his usually sharp demeanor had softened with time and wear. Before I could react, he strode forward and grabbed my arm, his grip firm but trembling.
“Susan,” he whispered hoarsely, pulling me into an embrace. He buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize my scent. “It’s you. It’s really you. I’ve finally found you.”
I didn’t struggle. Instead, I waited for at moment, then gently pushed him away,
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creating a measured distance between us. My expression remained calm, my eyes void of the warmth they once held.
“I’m sorry,” I said smoothly, my voice. devoid of emotion. “You must be mistaken. We don’t know each other.”
Ray froze, his brows knitting together.
“Impossible,” he said with quiet conviction. His gaze locked onto mine, searching for any sign of recognition.
“You’re my Susan. You’ve always carried the scent of gardenias. I’d know you anywhere.”
I arched a brow, unimpressed.
“They told me you were dead,” he continued, his voice rising slightly, tinged with both relief and anguish. “But I didn’t believe it. Even if you fled to the ends of the earth, I swore I’d find you.
My lips curved into a faint smirk, but my eyes held nothing but disdain.
Ray reached for my hand, his voice.
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softening. “Susan, we’ve been through so much–fifteen years of our lives together. Were all those moments a lie? Did I mean nothing to you?”
