For the rest of the day, Clara explored our new house more than me. She moved around the place, following me as I stored the perishable foods in the fridge, stuffed the processed foods into the cabinet, and lined up my books on the shelf at the fireplace where I intended to do my reading.

Now as I stepped out of the bathroom after soaking myself for a while, she strutted across the window sill. I had no idea how she got up there. She seemed to be enjoying the view. Just when I thought she was afraid of heights. She wasn't after all.

"Hey." I clapped my hand, but she ignored me.

She stopped strutting and scratched her claws against the pane.

"Clara, come over here."

No luck. She didn't even seem to notice my presence. I didn't want her streaking the pane or, worse, falling from the seat. I picked up the dress I splayed on the bed and donned it. I had filled the wardrobe with my clothes and jewelry. My shoes, heels, and boots were lined up on the rack.

I pulled back my hair into a ponytail. My eyes hadn't left Clara. What's keeping her there? Two strides and I stood by her. Scooping her into my arms, I stroked her fur. As I turned away, I noticed the light on the front porch of Mr. and Mrs. Something.

They lay in the swing bed. Mrs. Something had her head on his chest, and Mr. Something traced his finger across her cheekbone. If they were out at this time of the evening, then the weather hadn't changed for the worse. Seeing them cuddled up like that, I suddenly wished I were the woman and Tom was the man. We were up there spending some quality time and enjoying the quietness. But I wasn't her and he wasn't Tom.

Reality could sometimes be brutal you'd want to believe a lie rather than know the truth. Tom wasn't like that when I met him. If people could morph into a completely different person overnight, Tom did. Funnily enough, when I first met him I thought he was cute. I always ended up with the wrong man, but this time I went too far.

My sexual life had been mundane. Girl meets boy and finds him attractive. He asks her out. They date. It doesn't go anywhere and they end it. No tears, no contemplation, nothing, and maybe that was the problem. Jumping from one relationship to the other without so much as learning what went wrong in the previous.

But with Tom, it was different. I thought I had a future with him. I knew I shouldn't have trusted a mummy's boy. Till now, I never understood their bond. It was as though he were protecting her from God knew what. Our house in SoHo was his idea. He wanted to be close to his Mom. To be close to a fifty-something-year-old woman who had a husband who could aptly take care of her. And Stella didn't even look that defenseless. She could strangle you with her looks.

It was a boring day at the boutique. I had been doing a follow-up of a delivery to one of my international clients to no avail. Sales were down and my assistant Shelby was ill. But when Tom stepped into my boutique with her mother, my gloomy face suddenly lit up. I greeted them with the warmest smile I could summon. I didn't personally attend to customers. That was Shelby's job. I took care of other secondary tasks like follow-ups, ordering new clothes, and occasionally updating our website.

I asked if I could help and Tom told me they wanted a dress for a silver wedding. I expected Stella to talk to me since it was her dress, but Tom did all the talking, and I concluded he was the bodyguard. It was a wild guess then, but that was the only reason why a stately older woman garishly dressed wouldn't say a word when she looked like a fashionista.

I led them to a section of the boutique that displayed evening dresses. When I selected a black gown with matching stilettos to her, she glanced back and said, "Son, what do you think? Will this one do?"

I found nothing wrong with her asking Tom that. We moved on to another gown I thought would be wonderful for the occasion. She asked Tom again his opinion and I wanted to know if he was her stylist, but remembered she called him son. By the time she found a dress that fit, we had gone in circles in the boutique. I was mildly annoyed that she picked none of the dresses I selected when she asked me to help her choose one. If I knew her son had such a good eye for women's clothing, I'd have sat back, relaxed, and watched while they wandered in the boutique.

We went over to the counter. She constantly tapped her manicured fingers on the countertop as I rang up the items. I ignored the incessant interference and finished up.

"Here you go, ma'am," I said cheerfully, handing her the purchases.

She just looked at me as though I had done something wrong. That was when I saw her face for the first time. It had no wrinkles, no scars, nothing-just smooth as a child's. Even I didn't have such a perfect face with my skincare routines. Then a thought dawned on me. It was silly at first, but later, when I married Tom, I found out she'd done Botox.

I waited thinking she'd collect her items. When she finally stretched a hand, it wasn't directed toward me. She went into her leather handbag-the latest, (I hadn't ordered some because I'd thought it would be too expensive for my regular customers), and took out a pair of sunglasses, then flicked them on.

"I'll take that," Tom said to me with a smile.

I handed the items to him, then the credit card. I read the name off it and said, "Have a nice day, Mr. Grant."

Stella had already left the shop when I said it. Tom responded before he followed her. I sighed and collapsed onto my seat. I was glad they were gone. Although she brought me sales, I couldn't stop thinking she was a pain in the neck. If she was going to come to the boutique often, then I should probably order that expensive bag.

Later, I realized Shelby was doing one hell of a job attending to customers. I couldn't stand Stella in my boutique. I increased her salary since then. Stella was trouble the moment I set eyes on her. Yet, I turned a blind eye and married her son.

Around 8:00 pm as I locked up the shop, a sleek SUV pulled up across the street. A figure stepped out. I couldn't see his face. He was far away from the streetlights. It was clear he was heading toward my shop. I turned around and clasped my shawl. "Sorry. We're closed."

It was only when I got closer that I saw his face. "You?" I said, dipping my gloved hand into my overcoat pocket.

"Yes. Me. I can't find my phone. Erm... I'm sure I left it in your shop earlier."

He wasn't wearing any gloves, no overcoat, nothing. Wasn't he cold? As much as I wanted to help him find his phone, I didn't want to go back to the shop for many reasons. The weather was unpredictable, and I didn't want to be caught up in a freezing rain.

I stood, thinking. "Let's see..." I glanced up and strode toward him. "Why don't you leave a contact I can call when I find it tomorrow?"

He grinned and went into his pocket. "Sounds fair." He brought out a stiff paper. "That's my card. Call me when you find it."

I took it and slid it into my pocket. I didn't bother looking at it when the icy rain was already smacking my face. "I will."

"My name is Thomas by the way. You can call me Tom." He held out a hand.

I took it. He was still smiling at me and the logical thing to do was reciprocate. I smiled.

"I'm Elodie," I said, my eyes lingering on his solid face; dark eyes, pointed nose, and thin lips like the Prince Charming I had imagined when I was a child.

"Elodie," he repeated, his smile widening. "Nice to meet you."

Clara wriggled in my arms and meowed. I glanced down at her. "Hungry, girl?" I sighed and patted her head. "Yeah, me too."

Mr. and Mrs. Something were still on the swing bed. If I kept watching them like that, I might lose it. I walked away and went downstairs, passing by the living room to the kitchen. Depositing Clara on the kitchen island table, I neared her lunchbox and pulled out her bowl, then went for the Friskies I got from the convenience store.

She stared at me as I opened that and poured the contents into the bowl. I didn't need to call her. She was already on the hardwood floor when I placed the bowl on it.

While she greedily ate, I heated the lasagna I brought from home. I served myself with a glass of red wine, sitting in one of the chairs in the dining room. The quietness started to creep me out. Living in the city for years had had a boisterous effect on me. I couldn't stand the eerie silence. It felt like I was the only person alive.

You need this, I told myself. Contemplation was a vital concept. Stopping to assess your life at some point was important. It suddenly made you realize the effect some relationships had on you.

I stabbed the fork into the food and took a bite. Thinking about Tom had made me lose my appetite. Somehow I saw him sitting across from me. His eyes, which had once mesmerized me, bored into mine.

You can run, but you can't hide from me. I'll find you.

The words echoed in my head. It sounded exactly like what Tom would say if I ever told him I wanted a divorce. Bringing it up was going to be difficult, but I had to find a way. Our marriage was on the brink of death. Nothing could revive it now. It would take more than magic for me to go back to him.

I blinked hard. When I looked up, he was gone. Sighing, I picked up the glass and sipped. Another sip and the coldness sent a chill down my spine. I took another morsel and forced it down my throat. I was about to throw the food into the napkin when my phone chimed. I glanced down at the screen.

In caps were: Hi, Elodie. This is James. Hope you're already tucked in.

I decided against calling him. My phone time said 8:00 PM. If he was a married man, he'd probably be in bed with his wife. I didn't see a ring or I didn't look. I suddenly wished he wasn't married.

I texted back. Hello, James. Yes. I made it in one piece. Thanks for not giving me a speeding ticket. Truly appreciate.

My message marked as SENT. I waited for a reply, but there was none. I imagined what my getaway would have been like if the officer wasn't James. I'd probably be paying a fine by now, or worse in the process of losing my license since I didn't know I was speeding until he pulled me up.

When I emptied the glass, it became apparent I wasn't going to finish the meal. I stood slowly and picked up the plate and glass, then retraced my steps into the kitchen. I stored the leftovers in the fridge, wiping the plate and glass clean under the sink. Clara was busily lapping a bowl of water as I tidied up the place.

Tomorrow if I was still alive, I'd place two calls-one to my sister and the other to Shelby. She did excellently even without my supervision, and I was certain she wouldn't let me down this time. In the meantime, I'd text my sister and ensconce in the couch with a novel.

I went upstairs and grabbed a fluffy blanket, then sent a message to my sister, letting her know I had arrived safe and sound. Surprisingly, James hadn't texted back. I left my phone on the nightstand, went downstairs, and tucked myself on the couch, continuing from where I left off.

Five minutes later, I huffed. Why was this woman in my novel not leaving her husband already? The guy literally tried to kill her twice. My mind lingered on my marriage. Why didn't I leave Tom sooner? I wished I knew. It was easy to judge from afar. You'd never know what something was like until you experienced it yourself.

Initially, I had thought it was because I loved him-that's why I couldn't leave. But then what kind of love didn't let you see the dark side of people? What I had with Tom wasn't true love. I was stupid to think that, which meant I didn't leave not because I thought I loved him. I was scared of him. Scared of what he might do.

Tom's family weren't only rich. They were powerful too. Their tech company stretched across the states, and he was a tech guru. There wasn't a place on this earth where he wouldn't find me if I left him. Tom never loved me. It made more sense now. He married me because he thought I'd be his perfect wife who would represent him.

My mind suddenly went to my phone and devices. Could he track me to this place with them? I knew he could. He helped in developing sophisticated trackers and spy cameras now on the market. Maybe he had bugged our house to confirm his suspicions that I was cheating.

My fingers trembled around the paperback at the thoughts. He hadn't contacted me yet, which meant he hadn't come home. He doesn't know I have left. He usually stayed up late at night and sometimes wouldn't come home at all. What if he was home already and noticed my things weren't there? If he found out I had deliberately left... This wasn't helping.

Beads of sweat formed on my face. A rivulet snaked down my temple. I slid out of the duvet and sat up, setting the novel aside. I needed to go off the grid completely, but first I had to...

Three raps on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat. Had Tom already found me?