Page 250 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
I had to leave.
There was no version of this where I stayed and survived what I had just heard.
Dragging the suitcase behind me, I stumbled out of the room and into the hallway.
Each wheel of the bag rattled against the marble, echoing through the house like a countdown I didn’t want to hear.
The air shifted as I reached the front door.
Like the house itself knew something was breaking inside it.
I stepped outside.
The afternoon light hit my tear-streaked face like a slap, too bright, too indifferent to the collapse happening inside me.
I flagged down the first cab I saw, my hand shooting into the air before my mind fully caught up with my body.
The driver slowed immediately.
I barely heard myself speak as I gave him the name of a nearby hotel—somewhere I could disappear without questions.
My voice didn’t sound like mine. It came out fractured, like it was being pulled through glass.
The ride blurred past me.
Buildings. Traffic. Light.
None of it registered properly.
All I could feel was the weight in my chest—suffocating, impossible to shift.
Every breath felt too shallow, like my lungs had forgotten how to fully expand.
By the time the taxi stopped, I was already exhausted.
I paid quickly, almost clumsily, my fingers fumbling with notes I could barely see.
The driver said something—probably polite—but I didn’t process it. I stepped out before I could be asked anything else.
The hotel loomed in front of me.
I forced myself forward.
Inside, the reception area was cool and polished, the air faintly scented with something artificial and too pleasant.
The woman at the desk looked up the moment I approached.
Her polite smile lasted exactly two seconds.
Then it faltered.
Her eyes shifted slightly, scanning my face properly now—the tear-streaked skin, the trembling hands, the way I was holding myself together like it was purely out of stubbornness rather than strength.
“Ma’am...” she said gently, voice softening. “Are you alright?”
That question almost broke me completely.
My throat tightened so hard I couldn’t answer immediately.
