Amara's POV
"Amara!"
I turned too quickly and almost lost my balance. My heart was still hammering so hard I could barely hear anything else.
Jemima was running toward me, her heels clicking against the pavement, her face full of panic.
"Oh my God." She grabbed my arms the second she reached me. "I've been calling you for almost an hour. Where have you been? What happened?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Not a single word.
"Amara." Her voice softened. "Hey... look at me."
She tilted her head until our eyes met.
"You're scaring me."
"I..." My throat tightened. "I saw him."
She frowned.
"I saw them." My voice cracked. "In his office."
Something flickered across her face.
She knew exactly who I meant.
She didn't ask questions. I don't think she needed to anyway.
"Okay," she said quietly, slipping an arm around my waist. "I've got you. Come on."
I leaned into her without thinking. My legs barely felt like they belonged to me anymore. It felt as if I was floating.
She guided me to her car and opened the passenger door.
"I'm coming back for your car tomorrow," she said as she buckled me in. "You're not driving tonight."
I didn't have the energy to argue.
The drive home was painfully quiet.
The radio played softly in the background, but neither of us paid attention to it.
Every time we stopped at a traffic light, Jemima glanced over at me.
Like she was making sure I was still there.
Probably making sure I was still breathing.
I kept staring out the window, blinking back tears that refused to stop coming.
By the time we got home, my stomach had started churning. I felt a bitter taste rising in my throat
I barely made it to the bathroom before everything came up and out.
Jemima was beside me almost immediately.
She gathered my hair in one hand and rubbed slow circles across my back with the other.
When it was over, I rested my forehead against the toilet seat, exhausted.
"I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely. "This is... so gross."
She snorted.
"Oh, please."
She handed me a glass of water.
"I've seen you throw up after tequila shots in university. This isn't even in the top five."
A weak laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
"There she is," Jemima murmured.
I rinsed my mouth and took a few shaky sips of water.
Even lifting the glass felt like a lot of work.
*********
She helped me to the couch and wrapped a blanket around me.
I hated how comforting it felt.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then my mind betrayed me.
Nicholas. His office. Celine.
His face when he realized I'd seen them, his voice calling after me.
The memories crashed into me all over again. And I broke down, I wasn't crying the type of quiet tears from the car.
These tears were ugly and loud.
I folded into myself, crying so hard my chest hurt.
Years of swallowing things...
Years of convincing myself we were happy...
It all came pouring out.
Jemima didn't tell me to calm down.
She didn't say everything happens for a reason or tell me I'd find someone better.
She simply wrapped her arms around me and let me fall apart.
"I trusted him," I sobbed.
"I know."
"I gave him everything."
"I know."
"Why?" I whispered. "Why would he do this?"
She sighed softly.
"I wish I had an answer."
I cried until there was nothing left.
my eyes burned, my throat felt scraped raw.
I was just... empty.
Jemima stayed right there the whole time.
When my breathing finally settled, she brushed the hair away from my face.
"I need to ask you something."
I nodded tiredly.
"What do you want?"
I frowned.
She continued.
"This is not what people expect you to do or what your marriage is supposed to look like. What do you want?"
The question settled heavily between us.
For a long moment, I couldn't answer.
Then I realized I already knew.
"I want out."
The words surprised even me.
"I don't want explanations. I don't want promises. I don't want him crying and making me doubt myself again."
I swallowed.
"I just... want out."
Jemima nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"My dad's house..." I said. "It's still there."
"I know."
"I never sold it."
"You don't have to." Jemima replied as she poured me a glass of lemon juice.
"I could move back."
"You could."
A tiny knot inside my chest loosened. It wasn't enough for me to breathe freely. It was just there.
"I need my things."
"We'll get them."
"Tomorrow. I'd go tomorrow."
She wrapped her arms around me, “Tomorrow then, tonight we rest okay?”
*********
The house looked exactly the same. Our million dollar home.
The warm porch light, perfectly mowed lawn. Everything looked clean and beautiful.
Like nothing inside it had shattered.
I hated that.
"You don't have to go in alone," Jemima said quietly.
"I know."
"But I need to."
She gave me one last nod.
"I'll be right here."
“I'll be fine, just get to the office”.
She looked at me with a small smile and she drove off.
I walked toward the front door. Before I could knock, it flew open.
Nicholas stood there, His eyes were bloodshot and his tie hung loose around his neck.
He looked like he hadn't stopped pacing since I left. Not that I cared.
"Amara."
Relief flooded his face.
"Thank God. I've been calling…"
"I'm here for my things." I said brusquely and walked past him.
"Amara, please…"
"There's nothing to talk about."
I moved through the house, grabbing whatever I could carry.
A suitcase, my laptop, documents, clothes.
The things that were mine.
Nicholas followed me from room to room.
"I'm sorry."
I didn't reply, just kept picking up things as fast as my mind could tell me to.
"It didn't mean anything."
Silence.
"Please just look at me."
I grabbed my makeup kit, threw it into a larger bag and headed for the door.
By the time I reached the front door again, my bag was full and my arms ached.
He followed me outside.
"Amara, please."
I kept walking.
"I'll do anything.I'll quit my job."
I still kept on walking to my car.
"I'll never see her again."
I reached the gate.
Then suddenly his hand closed around my wrist and held onto it tightly. I almost winced at the sharp pain that pulsed in my wrist.
My bags fell to the ground all around me.
"Let go."
"Not until you listen to me."
I tried to pull free but he tightened his grip.
My heart started racing.
Then a voice sliced through the tussle and argument, a cold sharp and furious voice.
"Get your hands off my wife.”
