Chapter 3

The city moved around me as if nothing had happened. People scurried past with coffees in hand, laughter spilt out from open cafe doors, the traffic rolled steadily along the street, oblivious to how my world had split open the day before.

Standing outside the motel for a moment longer than I had intended, my bag hanging from my shoulder, I felt disconnected from it all. The shock and betrayal from yesterday made the ordinary rush feel unreachable, as though my inner turmoil was an invisible wall separating me from everyone else.

How could everything look so normal when my life no longer was?

I started to walk without any real destination in mind. The air was cool against my skin. I took my phone from my bag as I walked. I had not bothered to turn it back on since yesterday, and I just knew that it would go insanely crazy with messages and voicemails.

As soon as the phone loaded, it started ringing.

Noel.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"Give it up, cheating scumbag," I muttered to myself.

I could not help but wonder: Had she spent the night there with him, in my bed? Was she still wearing that shirt? That ring?

The thought made me feel sick, and my throat tightened. Frustration mingled with heartbreak as I tried to process what they'd done.

Stopping beside a brick wall, I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. Just breathe. Slowly in and slowly out.

Opening my eyes, I gritted my teeth and promised myself that I would not break down in the middle of a busy city centre. I drew strength from my anger, determined not to give strangers the show they didn't know they needed.

My fingers hovered over the screen of my phone. Apprehension twisted in my stomach as I saw messages waiting to be opened, voicemails stacked up, explanations lined up—each notification a knot of anxiety.

For a split second, I thought what it would be like to answer his call, just one. I imagined Noel trying to sound devastated, telling me it was a huge mistake and that he loves me, blah blah, while Mira would be crying her crocodile tears and blaming anything except herself.

I did not want to read or listen to any of them. Instead, I let out a bitter, humourless laugh.

This was not one bad decision.

It was a choice they had both made. Consenting adults, a series of choices. Did they think I was stupid enough to listen to their made-up stories and pathetic apologies?

nope.

I switched my phone off and shoved it back into my bag.

The silence that followed was immediate and felt clean—a brief relief from the barrage of emotions I was fighting to keep contained. Finally, silence.

no buzzing, no pleading, no attempts to rewrite what I had seen with my own eyes.

I needed silence.

Hunger forced its way into my thoughts as I found a small cafe, which was empty inside except for one other customer who sat in the corner nose deep in a newspaper, paying no attention to the world around them.

I ordered a coffee and a pasty, and I sat down and watched people pass by. My mind soon found its way back to my house. the staircase, the marble flooring, the bedroom that no longer felt like it belonged to me.

I imagined Noel pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration, Mira probably half-dressed, sitting in a corner. Maybe they were arguing, maybe they were having sex on the kitchen table.  Maybe they were waiting for me to come back so it would be easier for them.

I didn't owe them my tears, or anything, especially not any closure; they both deserved to sit there and suffer.

The thought gave me a sharp, grim satisfaction—a dark thrill that stood out against the ache of betrayal, forcing a sense of control back into my scattered feelings.

I finished my pastry and coffee and made my way back to the motel. I sat on the bed and opened my laptop.  

My email inbox filled the screen.

Work and deadlines. A reminder that I still existed outside of Noel and Mira. I replied to one email, then another one.

By the time evening hit, I was exhausted and considered turning my phone back on. For a second, just to see. But then, I thought no. They can wait, they can suffer for a bit longer.

But not broken. Each decision, exhausting as it was, fed a new sense of stubborn resilience.

There was something sharper in my expression now. Something steadier.

I did not want to spend another night alone in a motel room with my thoughts circling like vultures.

I did not want comfort either. I was still too raw, and the idea of gentleness felt unbearable right now.

Comfort implied softness, and softness felt dangerous.

What I wanted was distraction—something to jam between me and the jagged edges of my own grief.

Noise.

A room full of strangers where nothing meant anything and no one knew my name.

A bar.

The decision came easily.

I grabbed my coat and my keys, slipped my dead phone into my bag, and stepped out into the evening. The city was already glowing under the darkening sky, lights reflecting off windows and pavement, life moving with careless certainty.

I flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the address of one of the city's more upscale bars.

The kind I had always wanted to try.

The kind Noel had always dismissed as too expensive or too much.

Tonight, I did not care what Noel thought.

As the taxi pulled away, I leaned back against the seat and watched the city lights blur past the window.

I had no idea that this one decision—small, reckless, and entirely mine—was about to change everything.