Chapter 6: Escape and Reinvention

I didn’t fall asleep until four or five in the morning. My dreams were chaotic—sometimes about my mother, sometimes about Derek.

I woke in a cold sweat, tangled in the sheets, his voice echoing in my mind.

In my dream, he dragged me to the hospital with a cold face, forcing me to abort the child.

His grip on my wrist was iron, his words ice. Even in dreams, his control felt absolute.

“Natalie, you should know your place.”

His voice rang out, hard and final. I wanted to scream, but my throat was locked.

That’s what he said.

The words reverberated in my chest, sharp and unforgiving. I woke up gasping, my heart galloping.

When I woke up, it was already noon. I thought Derek had left, but as I walked toward the balcony, I heard him on the phone.

His silhouette was outlined against the window, cell pressed to his ear, the city sprawling below.

On the other end was his childhood friend, Grant. It sounded noisy, so Grant’s voice was loud and clear.

Even through the glass, I could hear Grant’s booming laughter. Some people never learned to use their inside voice.

“Derek, Rachel’s here. Where are you?”

His tone was teasing, familiar. I could picture him—tall, athletic, always the life of the party.

“Still at home. I’ll be there soon.”

Derek’s voice was flat, but there was a softness in it that he never used with me.

“Hurry up, everyone’s waiting for you to cut the cake. By the way, did you send your little canary away? Don’t let Rachel see her, or there’ll be trouble.”

The nickname stung. I pressed my hand to my stomach, willing myself not to react.

“Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

There was finality in his words, as if he’d already made up his mind.

After hanging up, Derek went downstairs—probably to meet Rachel Monroe.

His footsteps echoed on the hardwood, fading away. The silence he left behind felt heavier than his presence.

I quietly finished washing up and went to eat on the first floor, but unexpectedly, he hadn’t left yet.

He was sprawled on the sofa, one arm thrown over his eyes. The ashtray on the coffee table was already half full.

He was leaning on the sofa, smoking, lost in thought.

I hesitated, not sure if I should interrupt. His expression was closed off, unreadable.

After a moment’s hesitation, I took the initiative to help him tie his tie. We were so close, our breaths mingling. His gaze lingered on me.

My hands worked quickly, smoothing the silk into place. He didn’t move, just watched me with that inscrutable look.

Before leaving, he said softly, “Don’t go out today. Wait for me to come back—I have something to tell you.”

His voice was unexpectedly gentle. I caught myself hoping for something—anything—that might mean he wanted me to stay.

“Okay.”

It was all I could manage. I stared at the floor, wishing I could disappear.

What else could it be? Probably to tell me to leave soon. After all, his beloved was back.

The certainty stung, but I braced myself. Better to rip the bandage off quickly.

Two hours later, Rachel updated her Instagram. She posted a photo of a cake and one of her with Derek, captioned: [Back, and everything is as it was.]

The notification lit up my phone. I scrolled through the comments, heart sinking further with every like and heart emoji.

In these three years, I’d heard plenty about Rachel Monroe. They said she and Derek were childhood sweethearts—the girl he’d loved for years, the one who shone like a white moon in his heart.

Her photos painted a perfect life—holidays in Aspen, dinner parties at the lake house, private jets and designer dresses. I was just background noise to her spotlight.

In this house, there was a room reserved just for her. The reason Derek donated to our university was because it was her alma mater.

I’d seen the room once: untouched, filled with sunlight and fresh flowers. I’d closed the door quickly, feeling like an intruder.

In the photo, the two of them looked perfect together, smiling radiantly. I had to admit, they were a perfect match—whether in family background or appearance, like a prince and princess out of a fairy tale.

I scrolled back and forth between their faces, trying to convince myself I didn’t care. My phone felt heavy in my hand.

As for me, I was just a stand-in for the years Rachel was abroad, there only to satisfy Derek’s physical needs.

I was the layover, not the destination. It hurt more than I liked to admit.

That night, I waited on the sofa until midnight, but Derek never came home.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. I finally gave up, turning off the lights and retreating to bed alone. The sheets felt colder than usual.

The next day, news of him and Rachel entering and leaving a hotel was all over the internet.

My social feeds blew up with tags and suggestions I’d rather not see. Gossip accounts speculated endlessly. I turned off my phone, but the damage was done.

As I stared at the headlines, a wave of nausea hit me and I rushed to the bathroom.

The bile rose fast. I knelt by the toilet, shivering, knowing it wasn’t just the news that made me sick.

After washing my face, I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror.

My eyes looked hollow, cheeks gaunt. For the first time, I truly saw the toll this life had taken on me.

Suddenly, I made up my mind.

There was no going back. I knew what I had to do, no matter how much it hurt.

I had to leave. Otherwise, I’d become a shameful third party, and my child would never be able to hold her head up high.

I wouldn’t let Annie grow up in someone else’s shadow. She deserved better—so did I.

In these three years, I’d thought of leaving countless times. But I never expected the day would come so suddenly.

It was like ripping off a Band-Aid—painful, but necessary. My hands shook as I packed, but I didn’t stop.

I packed quickly. Aside from documents and a few personal items, I took nothing else. Derek had been generous with me, and I’d saved enough for me and my child to live comfortably.

I left the designer dresses and jewelry behind, took only the essentials. The suitcases clacked loudly across the hardwood, echoing through the empty apartment.

I told Mrs. Greene that I was going to visit my mother, so she didn’t need to prepare dinner. The driver wanted to take me, but I refused.

She eyed my suitcase, concern flickering across her face, but I just smiled and waved goodbye. I promised I’d be back in a week, though I knew I never would.

The taxi sped down the road, passing the Callahan Group headquarters and then my alma mater. While waiting at a red light at the campus gate, I saw Derek’s Tesla from afar. The skyline shimmered behind me, all glass and steel, as if daring me to look back.

The city blurred past the window. For a moment, the familiar landmarks felt like a funeral procession—one last look at a life I was leaving behind.

Almost instinctively, I glanced inside. For a split second, I saw Rachel Monroe leaning on Derek’s shoulder, looking intimate.

She smiled, her head tilted in that effortless way some women have. Derek glanced down at her, his lips curving slightly.

A wave of bitterness washed over me.

I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, willing myself not to cry. I’d made my choice. There was no turning back now.

I’d been hesitating about whether to say goodbye to Derek. After all, he’d helped me so much during my mother’s illness. But at that moment, I realized it was unnecessary. Rachel was back, and my departure was best for both of us.

The realization was freeing, in a way. I didn’t owe him anything more.

Before takeoff, I suddenly received a call from Derek. For three years, I’d always answered his calls immediately. But today, I let it ring and ring, then turned off my phone and removed the SIM card.

My hands shook as I powered down my phone, pried the SIM card out, and snapped it in half. It felt dramatic, but necessary—like cutting a lifeline.

I knew Derek’s temperament. He was proud—he wouldn’t call a second time. Just as well; it gave me time to escape.

The silence on the plane was comforting, the roar of the engines drowning out my doubts. I stared out the window as Chicago vanished beneath the clouds.

As the plane took off, the city lights swept by beneath me until they disappeared from view.

I watched the skyline shrink, wishing I could bottle up the courage I felt in that moment and keep it forever.

Goodbye, Chicago.

The words echoed in my mind, bittersweet and final.

Goodbye, Derek Callahan.

I closed my eyes, letting the city slip away for good.