Chapter 3
1168 Words
The zipper jams halfway.
I pull it once, it stops. I pull harder the second time and the teeth split apart again, the suitcase opening like it changed its mind. Shirts slide onto the bed.
“I folded those,” my mother says from the doorway.
“You folded them optimistically.”
She walks in and refolds one without asking. “You haven’t traveled yet.”
“I haven’t agreed to travel.”
My phone vibrates on the dresser.
Neither of us moves. It stops after a few seconds, then it starts again..
I grab it this time and answer without looking. “Yes.”
“Good morning, Ms. Cruz,” a woman says, brisk and efficient. “Confirming luggage pickup for eleven a.m.”
I glance at the open suitcase. “You have the wrong person.”
“Arielle Cruz, correct?”
“Yes, but I didn’t schedule-”
“The driver will wait ten minutes if you’re delayed.”
The line disconnects and my mother studies my face instead of the phone.
“Work problem?”
“Someone else’s plan” I say, annoyed.
The screen lights again. Another email with no subject, as expected.
I open it, and a boarding pass fills the display.
Naples. Today.
I stare long enough the screen dims in my hand.
“Big client,” she says carefully.
“Persistent client.”
I close the suitcase and push it under the bed with my foot. “I’m not going.”
The phone rings again before the sentence finishes. I pick it up, and it's a different number.
I answer. “Yes.”
“Arielle,” Martin says, breathless already.
“Your Italian client wired the full advance this morning. Legal cleared everything. So, you’re confirmed.”
“I didn’t confirm.”
“You opened the file. Their contract activates on payment.”
“That isn’t how ours works.”
“It is when they attach theirs.”
I ended the call and sat silently in the room for a moment.
Then my phone buzzes in my hand.
Another message… I roll my eyes as I open it
You should leave early. Traffic is unpredictable today.
I type before I can stop myself..
Stop arranging my schedule.
The reply appears immediately.
You’ll come anyway.
My jaw tightens.
No.
Three dots blink.
Then:
You never liked unresolved things.
I stare at the words longer than I should.
He’s right.
Which annoys me enough to get up and grab my blazer from the chair.
“Meeting him?” my mother asks.
“Ending it.”
Downstairs, the morning air is cooler than expected. The city sounds fully awake now, buses sighing at stops, a delivery cart rattling over uneven pavement. I step onto the sidewalk and stop.
A black sedan idles at the curb. The driver steps out the second he sees me. “Ms. Cruz?”
“I didn’t order a car.”
He checks his phone, nods once, then opens the rear door anyway.
“I’m not going to the airport,” I say.
He waits politely, still holding the door. “I was instructed to wait ten minutes.”
I glance up and down the street. Neighbors were leaving for work, a dog pulling its owner toward a tree... Everything ordinary except the car breathing quietly in front of me like it knows I’ll give in.
“I didn’t call you,” I repeat.
“Yes, ma’am.”
No argument nor persuasion, just certainty.
My phone vibrates and I already know what it will be; another message.
You’re late.
I look at the open car door, at my reflection in the dark window, and at the building behind me where my life sits in predictable order.
I could walk back inside but I don't.
Instead I step closer to the car. Not in... Just close enough to see the printed card resting on the seat.
My name.
I exhale once, annoyed more than hesitant.
“Ten minutes,” I tell the driver.
He nods.
I turn and head back upstairs, grab the suitcase from under the bed, and come down before I can reconsider.
This time I didn't pause, I got in and the door closed before I decided it was a good idea.
The engine pulls smoothly into traffic, and the city slides past the window in familiar turns that stop feeling familiar after the third block.
We aren’t heading toward the highway.
I lean forward slightly. “The airport is the other direction.”
The driver meets my eyes briefly in the mirror. “Route adjustment.”
“For traffic?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We stop at a light I never hit this early in the morning.
My phone vibrates again.
A message waits…
You always watch the roads instead of resting.
I look up slowly..
The driver keeps his attention ahead.
“Where are you” I type, annoyed
The reply comes before the car moves.
Close enough to know you didn’t sleep.
My grip tightens around the phone.
Outside, the streets change from residential to commercial. Morning deliveries and half-open storefronts and a coffee shop I pass every weekday.
We don’t stop.
“You passed the entrance,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Not a mistake then.
My pulse picks up once, sharp and controlled.
Another message appears.
You’ll get coffee later. You never drink it in cars.
I stare at the back of the driver’s seat.
He hasn’t turned around once.
I don’t ask another question.
We turn again, and this time I recognize where we’re going.
Not the airport.
My office building rises ahead, glass catching the morning light.
The car slows at the curb but I don’t reach for the handle.
Within a few seconds, my phone vibrates.
I knew you’d want control before leaving.
I sit very still because I never told anyone where I work before opening hours.
The driver steps out and opens my door.
I don’t move.
“Your office,” he says simply.
I looked up at the building, then back at him, “I didn’t ask to stop here.”
“I know.”
My phone vibrates in my hand, again… One new message.
Go inside.
Before I could respond, another vibration followed immediately.
I’m already there.
I glared at the driver and still didn't step out.
People pass the sidewalk without noticing me. I just simply took in my environment, someone unlocked the bakery two doors down, the metal gate rattled upward. Morning air carries coffee and warm bread into the car.
Just a normal morning, except my hands won’t move.
The driver waited like time belonged to him but didn't speak to me.
I check the building entrance again… the glass doors, and the empty lobby. The security desk was still unoccupied this early.
My reflection stares back from the mirror, composed enough that no one would think my pulse just changed rhythm.
The phone shifts slightly in my grip.
Then it vibrates.
- Writer
