Exit wounds

FIVE : WHAT FREEDOM SOUNDS LIKE

I didn’t leave right away.

It wasn’t that simple.

Freedom doesn’t always look like a slammed door and suitcase wheels on pavement.

Sometimes it starts smaller. Quieter.

Like taking the long way home from work just to think.

Like changing the password on your bank account.

Like not answering his call on the first ring.

In the morning Tavish acted like nothing happened.

He tried to kiss me

I turned my face.

Subtle.

But enough.

He paused.

Like he’d tasted the shift in the air.

But still, he didn’t ask.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t confess.

He looked at me for a second longer than usual.

And then just turned and went to work like the coward he was becoming.

And I let him go.

Because I had something else to do.

I tied my hair up loosely and moved into the kitchen, the quiet of the house settling around me.

I started with the dishes in the sink, washing them properly and rinsing them until the water ran clear. One by one, I placed them neatly on the drying rack, aligning them without thinking too much about it. After that, I wiped down the countertop and the range cooker, clearing away the faint traces of breakfast so the space looked fresh again.

I filled the sink with warm water, the sound sharper than usual in the stillness. Plates slipped beneath the surface as I worked through them, one after another. Water brushed against my wrists, and soft soap bubbles formed and disappeared almost instantly.

Moving through the kitchen with ease, I took out the trash and replaced the bin liner, then swept the floor carefully making sure to reach under the table and into the corners where dust always settled unnoticed.

When I was done in the kitchen, I walked into the living room. I folded the throw blanket over the sofa, straightened the cushions, and cleared the center table so everything looked balanced and uncluttered. A quick dusting followed, light and efficient.

I checked the hallway next, adjusting anything slightly out of place, before returning briefly to the kitchen to make sure everything was properly set in order.

By the time I finished, the house felt calm again clean, organized, and quietly put together.

I washed my hands at the sink, then stepped away to take a short break before brushing my teeth and taking a bath.

In front of the mirror, I brushed my teeth slowly, taking my time. The room was still, broken only by small movements and the soft sound of water as I rinsed.

When I was done, I decided to take a bath.

Warm water ran steadily as I bathed, comforting and easing the lingering tiredness from moving around the house. Everything felt unhurried just a calm rhythm of steam, water, and silence. When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel and paused for a moment before getting dressed.

I chose something simple but carefully put together a cream midi A line skirt, paired with a matching cream silk blouse, finished with low black stiletto heels. It was the kind of outfit that didn’t try too hard, yet still carried that quiet, expensive elegance. Everything sat neatly, comfortable but polished, as though each piece had been chosen with intention rather than effort.

The lawyer’s office smelled like leather and clean paper. I didn’t give my real name when I booked the appointment. I didn’t want a confrontation, I wanted information.

The woman across from me had kind eyes and a sharper voice.

“You’re not filing today?” she asked gently.

“No,” I said. “Not yet. I just… I want to know what I’m owed. If I leave.”

She nodded like she’d heard that a hundred times before.

“You’re not crazy, you know” she said as she flipped through papers. “Wanting proof before you jump. Wanting a parachute before you leap.”

“I spent six years building him,” I whispered. “Not just emotionally. Legally. Financially. I created his pitch deck. I wrote his first proposals. That company started on my laptop.”

She looked me straight in the eye.

“Then don’t walk away empty-handed.”

I walked out of that building lighter.

Not free.

Not yet.

But the chains were starting to loosen.

That night, Tavish brought me roses.

Lavender ones, the kind I used to love. The kind I told him reminded me of my late grandmother.

It should’ve been sweet.

But all I saw was strategy.

All I smelled was cover-up.

“You okay, baby?” he asked as I placed the vase on the table.

“Fine,” I replied.

But I wasn’t.

I was clear.

There’s a difference.

Later, after he fell asleep, I opened the closet and stared at the row of dresses I hadn’t worn in over a year. I used to be bold with my style, color, texture, heels that made me walk like I owned the ground.

Tavish never said he didn’t like them.

He just stopped complimenting me when I wore them.

And I stopped trying.

And he stopped noticing.

Or at least, that’s how it started to feel over time.

And I could see it clearly now in a way i hadn’t before, the slow shift of my decisions bending around someone else’s quiet reactions. The way i started choosing things not because i liked them, but because they got a response from him.

At some point, i stopped asking myself what i wanted to wear.

I started asking what would get his approval.

And when that approval faded, something in me did too.

But that night, I pulled one out.

A deep red wrap dress I hadn’t worn since the launch party of his first investor round.

The night he toasted to “the love of my life.”

The night he still meant it.

I ran my fingers across the fabric and made a promise to myself:

You’re going to remember her.

My name is Xamira Vale.

And today, I started planning my escape.

Not in rage.

Not in tears.

But in truth.

And that kind of freedom?

It’s louder than any goodbye.