Strength After Him

I walked into the bar, watching everyone drink and laugh like it was the happiest night of their lives, but mine was different. Then I saw him, my man with another woman, his hands around her neck, close, intimate. Anger boiled in my chest. I stormed over to their table, heart pounding, fists clenched, not caring who was watching. “You b***h! "What are you doing with my man?” I shouted, grabbing a drink and pouring it all over the lady. "Stop it, Ava!" he shouted, grabbing the cup from my hand. By then, the drink was already on her, dripping down her dress, her face frozen in shock. I didn’t regret that moment. She gasped and stood up, soaked, trying to wipe herself off as she walked away. He reached out to her suddenly. "Please – don't go," he said, his voice urgent, like someone losing a treasure. She paused for a second, but didn't turn around. She kept walking, wiping her face as she left the bar. That made me even more angry. Everyone looked at me like I was insane. He turned back to me, “Ava, What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Why did you just act up like that?” I stared at him, hurt and shaking. “Is this what I should expect from you now?” My voice trembled, thick with disbelief. “It’s not what you think,” he said quietly, glancing around and feeling embarrassed. “Not what I think?” I snapped. “I caught you red-handed, and you’re still denying it? She is the reason you have been avoiding my calls! I needed answers.” "Who told you I was here? What did you come here for? Answer me!” he barked. “I’m carrying our baby, remember?” I said, my voice cracking. You haven’t been answering my calls. And when I got the message you were here, I rushed down.” His hands clenched into fists, like he wanted to hit something, but instead he turned away, heading for the door. I rushed after him, my heart pounding. “Just tell me the truth. "Did you leave me for her?” I demanded. He stopped and looked at me angrily, then kept walking. “After everything we have been through… I won’t keep this child,” I said, as I raised my voice loudly. “You can do whatever you like. "I don't care what you do with the child in your womb,” he screamed. My voice broke as I screamed, “I hate you.” I stood there crying bitterly, lost in the shadow of what had just happened. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! It was eight o’clock in the morning. The sound of the alarm woke me up. I sat up quickly, my heart pounding. It was just a dream, yet the pain felt so real: the argument, the heartbreak, the man. I didn’t even recognize the man. I saw his face clearly in my dream, felt like I loved him… but now, awake, he was a stranger. I have never seen him in my life. Why does it feel so real when I know he doesn't exist? I reluctantly moved to silence the alarm that echoed through the small apartment. The unfamiliar surroundings and uncomfortable bed reminded me that I was no longer home. The soft life I was used to was gone. I sighed deeply. This is a new city. A new life in London. I reached for my phone – five missed calls from my mother. “What?” I whispered, staring at the screen, my heart racing. Why would she call me so early? I hope everyone is fine. I noticed that my phone had been on silent all night. I was stressed out and needed a rest. My room felt cold not because of the temperature, but from its emptiness. There were no frames or pictures on the wall. At this time, I missed home. I missed my mother and grandmother. I got out of bed, stretched, and slowly walked over to the window to check out the busy city below. Was this really the life I wanted? I left everything familiar behind to end up here, a stranger in a place that never stops moving, where everyone’s always rushing past each other. “Fear’s not going to hold me back,” I muttered to myself. I had less than an hour to leave the house. It was my first appointment to register for an ID card since I moved. Without it, I couldn’t set up exhibitions or sell my artwork, everything was on pause. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. I answered, relieved to hear her voice. She asked how I was faring and said I sounded exhausted. I rubbed my eyes and whispered that I was fine. “I got the news about your father yesterday,” my mother said slowly. “M-My father…. He is dead”. “No, he's back. A friend said that she saw him, but I don't know if that's the truth.” “No. No, that's not possible” My eyes widened “I don't know what to believe. Her voice wavered as she spoke.” I glanced at the clock and was running late. “Mom, can we talk later? I have an appointment.” So I hurriedly had my bath and dressed up for my appointment. I grabbed my bag and stepped out into the bustling streets of London City. The temperature was cooler than I anticipated. I couldn't stop thinking about what my mother said, “How is that possible? She told me my father died before I was born. I shook my head. “No, it's just a rumor.” Someone dead comes back to life only in movies. 1 hour later, I arrived at the office, checked my phone to be sure I was at the right location, picked a number and waited for my turn. “Number 5,” a lady called. It was my turn. I filled out forms, answered questions, and signed the papers. The process was faster than I expected, thinking I would spend the whole day there. I completed all the necessary documentation and submitted it. “In two weeks, your ID card will be sent to your mailbox,” the lady said. I was happy to have achieved this first step. My stomach rumbled as I left the office. Warm light spilled from a café across the road, drawing me in. I took a seat by the window and ordered coffee and vanilla cake. As I waited for my coffee, my mind drifted to the future. I pictured my art in a gallery someday. First, I needed to put a portfolio together, find exhibitions, and get my name out there. The list was endless but also thrilling. It is all up to me to make it become a reality. As I sat there, the dream I had lingered in my mind. “But who was he? And why was I dragging my man with another woman? I don't even know him. "I don't even have a man.” I sighed with a smile. The coffee and cake arrived, steaming out and rich with the scent of the vanilla cake wrapped around me like a soft blanket. I was so lost in thought, that I didn't even notice someone approaching me until a deep voice spoke beside me. He stood there with a coffee in hand. Tall, slim, sharp, a dark jacket over a crisp white shirt, confidence like he owned the place. He asked if I was okay, his voice low and easy. I blinked, surprised by how genuinely cute he seemed. He smiled as he set his coffee down, and took a slow sip. Then he said something about the crazy cold morning and how registration offices weren’t exactly thrilling. How did he know I had just finished my registration? I must have looked new and overwhelmed. I murmured a quiet “yeah,” feeling a small smile creep up. He chuckled, introduced himself as George, and offered his hand. I shook it lightly and said my name was Ava. He repeated it, lingering on the sound, then smiled and welcomed me to London. We slipped into easy conversation, comparing California to London, the weather, the best coffee spots, the little things that make a city feel like home. It felt effortless. Like I had known him way longer than a few minutes. I was curious and asked, “Where did you grow up?” He glanced at his buzzing phone, eyes flickering for a second before putting it away. “Inverness, Scotland,” he said. “Just me and my family.” But something felt off. That quick look at his phone, the way he dodged the question like it was a trap. I noticed, but didn’t press further. When he finally stood, he gave me a small, hesitant smile. “Good luck, Ava. Maybe I will see you again.” I exhaled, surprised at how much relief I felt. Maybe London wouldn’t be so overwhelming after all. As I gathered my things, someone called out, “Excuse me, ma’am…” The coffee attendant handed me a driver’s license. George Kerr. I stared at it, unsure whether to leave it there.