Chapter six
842 Words
Jane sold her jewelry one piece at a time. The diamond earrings Francis gave her on their second anniversary, the gold bracelet she’d worn to every charity gala, even her wedding ring. Each sale felt like peeling away a layer of her old life, cold, painful, but necessary. The jeweler barely looked her in the eye when he counted the cash, and Jane didn’t care. She wasn’t there to be pitied. She was there to survive.
She packed what little she had left clothes, a few books, and framed photos she almost threw away but couldn’t and left the mansion before sunrise. The city was waking up as she drove off, her car stuffed with memories that had lost their worth.
The apartment she rented was small, barely big enough for her and the silence that followed her everywhere. The wallpaper peeled in the corners, and the pipes groaned at night. But it was hers. No one yelled. No one told her what to do. For the first time in years, Jane Reece breathed without permission.
Her phone buzzed endlessly at first, old acquaintances pretending to check in, most of them fishing for gossip. When she stopped replying, they stopped calling. Soon her world shrank to four cracked walls, a window facing the street, and the sound of her own heartbeat in the quiet.
She saw her name on the news once “Vanessa Summers Hosts Annual Charity Gala” the same event Jane started years ago. Vanessa stood in front of the same banner, smiling beside Francis. Jane turned off the TV before she could finish watching. She sat in the dark, wrapped in her blanket, staring at the wall.
The next morning, she forced herself out of bed. There was no one left to save her. She had to do it herself. She started working odd jobs,filing papers in a small firm, waiting tables at night when rent was due. No one there knew her name, and she liked it that way.
Still, grief was a quiet shadow that followed her everywhere. There were days when she couldn’t eat, nights when she woke up gasping from dreams that smelled like his cologne. Once, she broke down in the middle of the kitchen, sliding to the floor with her hands over her face. She hated that she still missed him, the way he used to look at her before everything turned to ashes.
One evening, her strength gave out. She was at the market, trying to bargain for vegetables when the air left her lungs. The world tilted, colors fading at the edges. She tried to grab the counter but her fingers slipped. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, the sound of people shouting above her.
“Hey.. hey, don’t move.”
A deep, calm voice cut through the noise. Someone knelt beside her. She blinked through the haze and saw a stranger, dark eyes, simple clothes, hands steady on her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, though she clearly wasn’t.
He shook his head. “You don’t look fine.”
She tried to sit up, but her legs trembled. The man helped her to a bench nearby. “You should see a doctor,” he said. “When’s the last time you ate something?”
Jane looked away. “I don’t remember.”
He gave her a bottle of water and a small loaf of bread he’d just bought. She wanted to refuse it, but hunger won. She ate quietly, trying not to cry.
After a while, he asked, “You live around here?”
She nodded.
“I can walk you home,” he said simply. “You don’t have to be alone.”
She almost told him no, but there was something in his tone, gentle, not pitying. Just… present. They walked in silence until they reached her apartment building.
“Thank you,” she said, stopping by the gate.
He smiled a little. “You don’t strike me as someone who stays broken.”
The words caught her off guard. No one had spoken to her like that in a long time. Not since before her world fell apart.
She stood there long after he left, watching him disappear into the crowd. His name, she’d later learn, was Liam Cole, but for now, all she knew was that a stranger had seen her at her lowest and hadn’t looked away.
That night, Jane stood by her window, staring at the city lights. For the first time since she lost everything, something inside her stirred, not hope, not yet — but the faint echo of it.
She whispered to herself, “Not broken. Not yet.”
And in the distance, thunder rolled.
- Writer
