He Thought I’d Never Leave Chapter 11
I moved out of that place and rented a small cottage by the sea in Carmel.
No one there knew me. No one knew my past.
The days went by like California sunlight—quiet, unhurried.
I ran along the shore in the mornings. In the evenings I walked the golden retriever I’d adopted from the local shelter.
I named him Pepper.
I learned how to cook. How to fix a leaking faucet. How to build a good life for one.
A year later, I saw a headline online: Ethan Walker’s tech company had gone into liquidation after a wave of scandals and investor pullouts.
He was buried in debt. The Tribeca penthouse and the Tesla were sold.
Someone had snapped a photo of him back in the old apartment building in Williamsburg, smoking a cigarette on the front steps. He was thin down to his bones.
I didn’t comment. I didn’t like it.
I just scrolled past it, like it was a story about a stranger.
Claire took the baby and left New York.
Word was, before she went, she showed up at Ethan’s company and made a scene. Dragged everything into the open.
A man who’d fathered a child with his fiancée’s best friend.
She played her part in bringing his company down.
But she got nothing out of it either.
Without his money, raising the child alone wasn’t easy.
Then one night, very late, a text came through on my phone.
An unknown number.
Just two words.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t reply.
I looked down at Pepper, curled up at my feet, tail wagging as he gazed up at me.
I thought, This is good, actually.
One person. One dog. A clear sky.
No one to explain myself to. No one to wait up for.
That night I posted a photo on Instagram. Pepper and me, sitting on the beach at sunset.
The caption read:
The sea’s beautiful, even alone.
I put the phone down on the table.
I brewed a cup of tea and sat by the window watching the water.
The Pacific was deep blue in the distance. The sky faded from orange into violet. Stars came out, one by one.
The breeze came through the half-open window, carrying the smell of salt and sand.
And from then on, all of it—every ugly thing—drifted farther and farther from me.
[End]