Chapter 2 Empty Apartment
1001 Words
GENEVIEVE
The airport smelled like polished floors, brewed coffee, and departures that didn’t look back.
Genevieve stood in line at the private terminal with her passport in hand, her suitcase resting beside her like a quiet companion. Outside the glass walls, the sky was pale blue, stretching endlessly as if offering her something she hadn’t felt in years. Possibility.
She checked the time. Elias would be in a board meeting by now. He wouldn’t notice her absence until evening, when the house felt too quiet and the silence finally reached him. By then, she would already be gone. “Ms. Laurent?” She lifted her head. The airline attendant smiled politely. “Your flight to Zurich is ready for boarding.”
Genevieve nodded. “Thank you.”
As she walked down the corridor toward the jet, a strange tightness settled in her chest. No regret. Not fear. Finality. She had loved Elias deeply, quietly, patiently, foolishly. She had loved him in empty penthouses and crowded galas, through his silence and his indifference. But love, she had learned, could not survive where it was never acknowledged. She stepped onto the plane. The door closed behind her with a soft, decisive click. The flight was smooth, the cabin silent except for the low hum of the engines. Genevieve stared out the window as Aurelia City shrank beneath the clouds, its glass towers dissolving into something distant and unreal.
She pressed her palm against the cool window.
Goodbye.
She didn’t cry. She had shed those tears long before the divorce papers arrived. This departure wasn’t an escape; it was a choice.
For the first time in years, no one expected anything from her. No schedules to manage. No appearances to perfect. No marriage to maintain single, handedly. She closed her eyes and slept. Zurich greeted her with cool air and quiet efficiency. The city was nothing like Aurelia. Less glitter, more restraint. Stone buildings lined clean streets. The lake shimmered softly beneath the afternoon sun. Everything felt deliberate, calm.
She checked into a small serviced apartment overlooking the water. It wasn’t grand, but it was hers. No guards. No staff watching her every move. No reminders of a life she no longer belonged to. Genevieve unpacked slowly, placing her clothes into the wardrobe, lining her books along the shelf. She hung her grandmother’s necklace on the bedside lamp, the silver chain catching the light. That night, she stood on the balcony wrapped in a light cardigan, breathing in the cool air. The silence didn’t feel lonely.
It felt honest. Three weeks later, the nausea began.
At first, Genevieve dismissed it as exhaustion. Divorce has a way of draining the body as much as the heart. She had been working long hours, meeting with contacts, exploring the possibility of consulting work in energy policy, something she had quietly excelled at during her years beside Elias. But the dizziness lingered. Her appetite vanished. Coffee, once comforting, now turned her stomach. Certain smells made her gag unexpectedly, forcing her to grip countertops until the wave passed. One morning, she barely made it to the sink.
She stared at her reflection afterward, pale and unsettled.
“No,” she whispered.
The word trembled.
Still, she bought the test.
She stood in the bathroom, fingers clenched tightly around the small white stick as the seconds stretched unbearably long. Positive.
The world tilted. Genevieve sank onto the edge of the bathtub, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out her thoughts. Pregnant. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, her breath shallow. A thousand emotions collided: shock, fear, disbelief, something dangerously close to hope.
Elias.
The name surfaced uninvited.
Her chest tightened as memories flooded in. His cool dismissal. His firm declaration that their marriage was over. His belief that emotions complicated progress. Children make complicated progress. She closed her eyes. He didn’t want this life. She knew that as clearly as she knew her own name. Genevieve remained seated on the bathroom floor for a long time, the test resting beside her like undeniable proof of a future she hadn’t planned for. When she finally stood, her legs felt steadier. “I can do this,” she said aloud.
Her voice didn’t shake.
The clinic was quiet, efficient, impersonal, exactly what she needed. The doctor was kind, her tone neutral as she reviewed Genevieve’s file. “You’re approximately six weeks along.” Genevieve nodded. “Everything seems… normal?” “So far, yes,” the doctor replied. “We’ll schedule an ultrasound in a few weeks.” A pause. “Will the father be joining you?” “No,” Genevieve said immediately. “It will just be me.” The doctor didn’t question it. Outside, Genevieve walked along the lake, the autumn breeze brushing against her face. She watched families pass parents holding children’s hands, couples pushing strollers, laughter echoing softly.
She didn’t feel bitterness.
She felt resolved.
This child would never question whether they were wanted.
Elias Laurent noticed Genevieve’s absence three days after she left.
The house felt wrong, too quiet, too still. Her presence had always been subtle, like background music he hadn’t realized he relied on until it stopped. “Has Mrs. Laurent called?” he asked one of the staff curtly. “No, sir.” He frowned. “Where did she go?” “We were not informed.” Annoyance flared, sharp and brief. She should have told him. This was unnecessary drama. He dismissed the thought quickly and returned to work. But that night, when he stood alone in the penthouse, the silence pressed heavier than before.
He poured himself a drink he didn’t finish.
Back in Zurich, Genevieve lay awake in bed, one hand resting over her stomach. “I won’t fail you,” she whispered softly.
She didn’t know yet how her life would change, only that it already had. And somewhere between fear and courage, a quiet strength
Settled deep within her.
She wasn’t running anymore.
She was beginning.
- Writer
