The city was cruel in the daylight.
People rushed by with their coffees and briefcases, faces glowing with purpose, as if the world itself had given them a reason to belong. I walked among them, invisible, dragging the weight of a heart that refused to beat the same way it used to.
The motel room had felt like a cage. The silence too loud. So I decided to step outside, to breathe, to pretend—just for a little while—that I was still human.
But pretending came with a price.
I stopped by a small grocery store to buy instant noodles and water, my hands shaking as I counted every coin. As I stepped into line at the cashier, I felt it—the stares. The whispers.
"That's her, isn't it? Mrs. Reed…"
I froze. My stomach twisted. I felt like I should enter the ground.
Two women, immaculately dressed, stood behind me, their perfume thick enough to choke me. One leaned closer to the other, her voice sharp with mockery.
"I heard he finally got tired of her. Poor thing—she looked more like a maid than a wife."
The other giggled, her words slicing deeper. "Well, what did she expect? A man like Alexander Reed doesn't waste his life on someone so… plain."
The world tilted, my cheeks burning hot and cold all at once. I forced myself to keep staring at the groceries in my basket, my knuckles white against the plastic handle.
Don't cry. Don't let them see you break.
I paid quickly and rushed outside, the laughter of the women echoing behind me like nails on glass. My legs carried me aimlessly until I found myself on a familiar street—one I used to walk with Alex. My breath hitched when I saw the café we once visited on our wedding anniversary, the only time he had bothered to show up.
And there he was.
Sitting by the window.
With her.
Vanessa leaned forward, her hand brushing his as if she owned the right to touch him, her smile soft and victorious. Alex's face was unreadable, but he didn't pull away. He let her laughter fill the air, let her presence take the seat that once belonged to me.
The groceries slipped from my hands, tumbling onto the pavement. Cans rolled across the sidewalk, and people stared, but I didn't care. My chest cracked open with a pain too heavy for words, too raw for dignity.
I turned and ran.
Ran from the café.
From the whispers.
From him.
By the time I stumbled back into my motel room, my lungs were on fire, my heart a bruised mess in my chest. I collapsed onto the bed, clutching the sheets as if they could hold me together.
Tears poured until I thought I had none left. Until my throat was raw and my body trembled from exhaustion.
And in that broken silence, the truth rang louder than ever—
I was no longer a wife.
I was the abandoned shadow of one.