SHOT THROUGH THE LENS

CHAPTER 3

The Uber smelled faintly of a mixture of leather polish and car freshener.

Phoebe leaned her head on the window, watching the city drag past in cars, shops, people, everything passing in seconds.

Every movement let her know life had refused to pause for her.

Only she seemed stuck; her mind kept returning to the doorway.

To Dave,

It had been three years since she stood that close to him. Three years since she cried herself to sleep over him, she had learned how to live again.

Yet the moment she opened the door and found him there, standing as if he had every right to return, something old and foolish began to stir in her.

He looked different.

Older in the eyes, maybe; less arrogant around the mouth, definitely.

His beard was fuller, his shirt well-tailored, and his cologne too familiar.

“Phoebe,” he had said, like her name was an apology.

She didn't give an answer.

Anika’s voice kept shouting from the phone on the floor, but Phoebe could barely hear her.

Dave had bent to pick it up. She had stepped back so quickly her heel hit the edge of the rug.

“I know I shouldn’t have come like this,” he said. “I called, but you changed your number."

“For a reason”

That seemed to hurt him.

Good, she thought, then hated herself for still caring whether it did.

“I messed up,” Dave continued. “The way things ended between us was terrible." His eyes grew softer. “I was young, proud, and stupid; I thought leaving was helping you, but it wasn’t.”

“Helping me to do what?” Phoebe’s voice rose as her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not here to disturb your life; I'm only asking for a chance to talk. Properly”

He bent his head as though he were ashamed. “I’ve thought about us for a long time, Phoebe, and we were good together.”

She almost laughed.

Good together,

Those words were definitely rehearsed, as if he had practiced them in a mirror.

“Dave, today is really not a good day. Besides, how did you get my address?”

“Through your sister”

She felt her stomach knot.

“Wow!”

His face changed, just enough for her to see that he had said too much.

“She said…” His voice trailed off as she held her index finger up.

Phoebe picked up her phone from his hand before he could say more. Anika was still there, panicked and wondering.

“I’ll call you back,” Phoebe said, and ended the call.

Dave took a step closer. “Please, let's try again." He tried to touch her face. “We’ll be perfect this time, I know.”

Phoebe shrugged his hand off as she stared at him.

She felt the weight of the day pressing on her from every side.

The dream, her job, her mother’s voice telling her to come home. Now Dave, standing at her door like a newborn ghost who had learned how to ring a bell.

Luckily, her ride arrived immediately.

“I can’t do this now,” she said.

“Then when?”

"Later," she said as she turned, locked her door, and stormed past him to her ride.

It was a coward’s answer—she knew that.

Still, it was the only one she could think of giving.

Now, inside the Uber, she could literally see the lie sitting beside her like another passenger.

Later.

…………………………………………………………………

By the time the car turned into her parents’ street, the sky had turned into a pale evening glow.

Each home on the street seemed now to her like a mighty, fortified castle; her parents' mansion was no exception.

Their mansion stood behind black iron gates, grand in the shameless way wealth was often displayed in the area.

Tall pillars. Wide balcony. Glass windows that caught the fading light and threw it back like gold.

The gate opened before the Uber driver honked.

As the car slowed down, her door swung open.

But before she could reach for her bag, two staff members hurried forward. One took the luggage from the boot. Another opened her door with a small bow that made her cheeks warm.

“Welcome home, ma.”

Home

The word landed strangely.

It had been three years since she left home to find herself and carve her path, or so she thought.

Inside, the house smelled of fresh flowers and the lemon polish the staff used on the marble floors.

Mrs. Martha, the head housekeeper, appeared from the hallway in her blue uniform, wiping her hands with a towel.

“My baby's back," she said, pulling Phoebe into a hug before remembering herself. “Sorry, Ma."

"I mean, welcome.”

Phoebe laughed for the first time that day.

“Please don’t start calling me ma. You're literally family."

“And I can still beat you if you forget your manners,” Mrs. Agatha whispered, then stepped back with wet eyes. “Look at you. Too thin. Your mother will shout.”

“Isn’t that what she says whether I’m thin or fat?”

“true”

Her parents came down the curved staircase together. Her mother moved faster, her silk wrapper giving a sweeping whisper around her ankles; her perfume announced her arrival.

“My baby!” Her mother went for her cheeks with both hands and gave a gentle squeeze. "You look pale."

Phoebe felt safe as she let herself be swallowed in her mother’s arms.

For a moment she forgot about everything, stopped being a jobless twenty-something-year-old, confused, and haunted by a dream she couldn’t explain.

The nostalgia hit in; she felt like the child who had once run through this same hallway with unfinished homework.

Her father waited until her mother released her before drawing her close.

“There she is,” he murmured, "my beautiful star.”

Phoebe fell into and closed her eyes against his chest. “Hi, Dad.”

"Hi, you.”

From somewhere near the staircase came a slow clap.

Phoebe looked up.

Mary leaned against the banister in shorts and an oversized shirt, a glass of wine in her hand and mischief written comfortably on her face.

“Good thing the prodigal child returns,” Mary said. “Should we kill a fattened calf or will a chicken do?”

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “I missed you too.”

Mary smiled, sweet and fake. "Huh!" Almost spilling her drink as she scoffed

“Did you?”

Their mother jabbed Mary sharply in the ribs.

“Ow!” Mary hissed as the drink spilled all over her.

“Talk well to your sister," their mother warned.

“I was welcoming her.”

“You were provoking her.”

“Same family tradition.”

Phoebe shook her head, fighting another laugh.

Mary had always known how to make affection sound like an insult.

If she ever said “I love you” plainly, the whole house might need prayer.

Upstairs, her room had been prepared as if she were a visiting queen.

Fresh bedsheets, her favorite lamp. A bowl of chocolate by the window.

Someone had even placed yellow roses on the dressing table.

She touched one petal and felt the exhaustion return.

After a shower, she changed into a soft green dress and decided to take a tour round the house, trying to go down memory lane.

She found her father in his study; the room was warm, lined with books, framed magazine covers, and an old computer and a copier on the study desk.

Some were old issues from his company. Others carried photos of people who had shaped culture, politics, and fashion, and some were simply educational content.

He sat behind his desk, glasses low on his nose.

“You look better,” he said.

“Did I look that bad?”

“You looked like someone who argued life with the grim reaper and almost didn't last past the first round."

Phoebe dropped into the chair opposite him. “Sounds about right."

He studied her for a while. “Your mother told me something happened at work.”

Phoebe looked away.

“I was laid off.”

The words felt smaller now, but no less painful.

Her father removed his glasses. “Boomclass let you go?”

“They’re in some crisis, lost contracts, lost deals, and decided to lose good people too." She raised her hands in frustration.

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead. “They said it was temporary.”

“Temporary is what people say when they kick you out politely."

Phoebe gave a tired smile. “That sounds like something you’d print in an editorial.”

“I should." He leaned back. “I warned you about building your name under people who did not understand your value.”

“Dad!”

“You should have stayed with my firm."

There it was.

Phoebe sank deeper into the chair; she desperately wanted the seat to swallow her. She didn't like having this conversation. “I didn’t want people saying I got everything because of you.”

“People will talk if you fail. They will talk if you rise. Why arrange your life with their words?”

She had no answer that would satisfy him.

His voice softened. “I’m proud that you tried. I only wish you didn’t think independence meant refusing help from people who love you.”

Phoebe swallowed.

A knock came, then her mother’s voice drifted from the hallway before the door opened.

“Are you two discussing me?”

Phoebe turned sharply. “Actually, yes we were."

“Did you send Dave to my apartment?”

Her mother froze for half a second. Too brief for anyone careless to notice, Phoebe was not careless.

Her father sighed.

So it was true.

“Mum?”

“I only asked him to check on you,” her mother said, stepping in. “You sounded broken on the phone; he still cares about you.”

“You had no right."

“I am your mother."

“That’s not a right to open old wounds and invite people inside."

Her mother’s expression tightened, then softened. “I did what I thought would help."

"Well, it didn’t.”

The silence that followed was full and uncomfortable.

Her father cleared his throat. “We can discuss Dave later. Tonight, I want you calm as a visitor would be joining us for dinner, and I want you present for the conversation.”

Phoebe frowned. “What visitor?”

“Someone I may be working with. He has a project that could change the direction of the magazine.”

“I just got laid off today."

“Then perhaps timing is not as cruel as it seems."

She did not like the way he said that.

Before she could question him, Mrs. Agatha appeared at the door.

“Dinner is ready.”

At the dining table, Mary had already claimed the seat opposite Phoebe and was busy pretending not to stare at her.

Their mother sat at one end, composed again. Their father took the head of the table.

Phoebe’s phone buzzed.

Anika: Are you alive or should I start crying publicly?

Phoebe typed back, "Alive?" Barely.

Another message came in before she could drop the phone.

Dave: Please don’t shut me out again.

She stared at the screen, annoyed, until the letters blurred.

“Phoebe,” her mother said gently. “Phone away. We’re about to pray.”

"Sorry."

She lowered it and closed her eyes.

Her father had barely said, “Father, we thank you for this meal,” when a knock sounded at the front door.

Mrs. Agatha moved quickly.

Voices entered from the hallway.

A man’s voice.

Low, calm, and familiar in a way that scraped against the inside of Phoebe’s skin.

“Thank you,” he was saying. “I hope I’m not too late. Traffic was worse than I expected.”

Phoebe’s eyes opened.

The room seemed to tilt.

“No! No! No!” Phoebe panicked as soon as her mind caught on where she had heard his voice.

Footsteps approached the dining room, measured, controlled, and confident.

Her phone slipped from her hand onto her lap.

The man stepped into view.

He wore a dark suit without a tie, his hair slightly damp from the evening air.

His face was the same face from the dream. The same eyes that had watched her from behind a door she had never opened in real life.

The same mouth that had spoken her name in a place where the walls couldn't breathe and the lights had flickered like dying stars.

He smiled at her father first.

“Sir, thank you for having me.”

Then he turned toward the table.

Phoebe stopped breathing.

Her father rose with pleasure in his voice.

“Phoebe, this is the man I wanted you to meet.”

She gripped the edge of the table.

“No!” she whispered.

Everyone looked at her.

The visitor’s smile faded.

Her father frowned. “Phoebe?”

She pushed back her chair, but her legs did not obey.

“No, no, no, no…”

The man stared at her now, slightly confused.

Phoebe saw the dream again. The door. His hand was reaching for her. The dark is spreading under his feet like spilled ink.

“No!” she cried.

Mary stood. “Phoebe?”

The room folded inward.

The last thing Phoebe saw before the floor rushed up was the stranger moving toward her faster than anyone else.