Behind His Office Door

"You w***e!.. You're so weak… I should have never married you!" I'd come to know this routine all too well: anger, insults, the crash of breaking glass. Each noise reminded me I was still here, in a place that never felt like home. Sitting at the edge of my bed with a half-zipped suitcase, my hands trembled as fear swirled in my mind. Downstairs, voices rose again—sharp and ugly. I could tell when my father’s voice shifted, when the atmosphere grew tense before something shattered. I always wondered how my mom managed to stay with him and continues to do so. It was an unending cycle that seemed impossible to break while living here. My chest tightened; tears burned at my throat but refused to fall. For months I'd promised myself I'd leave someday, though doing it proved harder than saying it. The old alarm clock glowed 12:07. The next bus out left at 1:30 a.m. Checking my phone revealed no new messages except the last one from Grace, my best friend in New York: "If you're really leaving tonight, don't overthink it. Just go. I'll be here." Grace has been there for me since eighth grade—a true friend despite the miles between us now—and her constant support means everything to me as she checks in regularly from afar. Another crash downstairs. Glass this time. My mother’s voice cracked in fear, and something inside me finally broke. I grabbed the envelope of cash I’d been hiding for months, zipped my suitcase, and slipped on my hoodie. My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped the keys. When I stepped into the hallway, the floorboards creaked like they were begging me not to go. The walls felt closer, like they were trying to trap me one last time. I stopped at my mom’s door. The light under the crack was still on. I wanted to knock — to say goodbye, or maybe I love you — but I couldn’t. Love didn’t fix anything in this house. It only hurts more. So I whispered, “I’ll come back for you,” even though I didn’t know when. Then I left. Outside, the air was cold and smelled like rain. The streetlamps flickered as I dragged my suitcase down the road. Every step away from that house felt unreal — but it felt good at the same time, like I was finally free. When I reached the small bus terminal, a few people were scattered on benches, wrapped in jackets, half-asleep. I bought a one-way ticket to New York with shaky hands. “First time traveling alone?” a brunette middle-aged woman behind the counter asked gently. I nodded. She smiled, her voice soft. “Then welcome to your first night of freedom, sweetheart.” Freedom. The word hit something deep inside me. When the bus finally pulled away, I pressed my forehead to the window and watched the town disappear in the dark. I should’ve felt happy, but all I felt was empty — empty because my mom is still in that house with him, the man I despise so much. He was never much of a father figure — barely at home, drunk most of the time, and was never there to even put me to bed. By the time we reached New York, the sky was turning pale. The city smelled like rain and fuel and something I couldn’t describe — possibility, maybe. People moved like they were late for something important. Cars honked, lights flashed, the streets buzzed. It was chaos, but the kind that made me feel alive. My phone buzzed. Grace: I’m outside the station. Look for the blue car that sounds like it’s dying 😭 I smiled for the first time that day. Her car really did sound like it was dying — but when I saw her standing beside it, arms wide open, I ran straight to her. “You actually did it,” she said, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. “I’m so proud of you.” “I didn’t think I’d make it this far,” I whispered. Grace grinned. “You did. And you’re not going back. Now, come on. I made pancakes. They taste like cardboard, but it’s the effort that counts.” Her apartment was small and cluttered, but it felt alive — plants on the windowsill, fairy lights, laughter in the air. I sank onto her couch, hugging a throw pillow like I’d never touched something soft before. The quiet felt different here. It wasn’t heavy. It was peaceful. “So,” she said teasingly, setting a plate of very questionable pancakes in front of me, “what’s your plan, Miss New Yorker?” “I’ll find a job,” I said after a pause. “Something stable. I don’t care what it is. Tomorrow morning I can go out to hunt for cafe job positions or something.” “Okay T, just remember not to be too hard on yourself, this experience should be a new beginning for you, don't forget that.” Grace said with pleading eyes as if she already knew I was going to overwork myself. As time passed, night came and Grace had to retire to bed. I sat on her couch, scrolling through my phone, looking for a nearby cafe I could apply to by morning. I found a few and noted them down to check by tomorrow. I could feel my body giving in on me so I decided to call it a night. Walking into the spare room, it had already been set up and my eyes found a note on the bed. I picked it up and on it there was a note from Grace; “I hope this makes you feel at home”. I couldn't help but smile. She really is the best. Stressed out from all the traveling, I climbed onto the bed, lay down, and turned off the light and fell asleep immediately. I didn't know what tomorrow would hold but I had to be positive because this is my new beginning.