Chapter 3
I packed a small bag and headed to the airport.
My destination was random; this sudden freedom left me at a loss.
Since high school, my whole life seemed to revolve around Lance Mitchell.
At first out of guilt, then out of sympathy.
Every time I saw him on the rooftop, smoking alone, his gaze lost in the distance,
My heart ached. Loving him became my mission.
But he never needed it, and now I didn’t have to force it anymore.
My parents called, their voices urgent and sad.
I could only reassure them: “I need some time alone. I’m really okay.”
As I was about to switch off my phone on the plane, I saw a message from Lance.
[The baby won’t wait. We’re taking wedding photos first.]
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Why tell me this?
Was he trying to remind me that five years of marriage to him wasn’t worth planning a wedding for?
He probably couldn’t hear the congratulations in my voice.
Not just for him, but for myself too.
I could finally stop loving him. Loving him was exhausting.
After paying my dues for over a decade, I’d exhausted all my guilt towards him.
I thought for a moment, then replied: [Okay, take plenty. I won’t be at the
wedding.]
He kept showing as ‘typing‘ but couldn’t seem to send a word.
The plane was about to take off. I turned off my phone and tossed it in my bag.
As I closed my eyes, my body felt lighter.
No more Lance Mitchell. No one to constantly remind me: “Samantha, if it weren’t for you, my life wouldn’t be like this.”
A few hours later, we landed.
The moment I turned on my phone, several messages popped up.
All from Lance.
The latest one just seconds ago.
1/3
03
[Samantha, it’s midnight. Why aren’t you home? I told you curfew is at 10.]
I froze in confusion. Divorced, and still a curfew?
The curfew was his rule.
After we got married, Lance and I lived not far from my parents.
Sometimes I’d eat dinner and chat at my parents‘ place, only to look up and realize
it was past midnight.
Lance wouldn’t call, but when I got home, the living room would be pitch black.
Only the ember of his cigarette glowed in the dark.
“So you remembered to come back? You’re married now, don’t you understand
what that means?”
I’d explain I was at my parents‘, but he’d just scoff coldly.
“From now on, 10 PM curfew. Come back any later, don’t bother coming home!”
After that, I always came home on time, sometimes running to make it back by the
deadline.
My mom and dad thought we were so in love, grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re a grown woman now, yet you have a curfew? We never set rules like that
when you were little.”
Now I stand at the airport, looking at this curfew message with a whirlwind of
emotions.
My finger hovers over the reply box, but I can’t type a single word.
It’s like wolfing down a feast only to realize it’s completely bland. He’s already sent another message: [We agreed on this, didn’t we?]
The pre–booked taxi is waiting by the curb. After some thought, I reply: [We’re not ‘us‘ anymore.]
I open the car door and get in. He’s already calling.
I don’t answer, but he keeps calling relentlessly.
When I finally pick up, his voice comes through urgently.
“Samantha, where are you?”
The driver in the front seat turns and asks me, “We’re going to that hotel, right?”
2/3
03
C
I nod, and Lance suddenly explodes on the other end of the line.
“You’re not coming home but going to a hotel this late? Who’s that man?”
His voice is so loud I instinctively hold the phone away from my ear.
I reflexively start to hand the phone to the driver to explain, but stop myself mid- motion.
What am I explaining?
A few hours ago, we signed the divorce papers.
From now on, the world is my oyster. I no longer need to decipher the meaning behind his frowns.
I’ve never felt so calm and justified as I reply to him. “Lance Mitchell, I don’t need to report to you anymore.” As I hang up, I feel a sense of liberation wash over me.
Turns out, I can now hang up on him when I’m upset too. Including blocking him.
20
