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1241 Words
Her hair slipped forward across her face, so she rubbed her forehead absentmindedly while trying to steady her breathing, although her thoughts refused to settle.
Ethan’s face flashed through her mind for a brief moment, along with a voice she could no longer fully recall, and that missing memory alone made her chest tighten as if something precious had been stolen from her twice.
“I’ll do my best…” she whispered to herself, but the rest of the sentence never came, because even she didn’t know anymore whether she was trying to survive or trying to change fate itself.
The apartment was quiet, yet it was not peaceful, and as she stepped barefoot into the kitchen and reached for more coffee, she noticed how ordinary everything looked compared to what she had lived through, as if the world had not yet realized she had already died once.
Steam curled up from the cup while she leaned against the counter, and she took a slow sip even though the taste barely registered, because her mind was already elsewhere, circling memories that refused to stay buried.
Without thinking too much, she reached for a sticky note pad beside the coffee machine, since writing things down had always helped her organize chaos, and although she tried to keep her hand steady, her pen paused for a moment before it even touched paper.
Don’t trust Thompson.
The words came out sharper than expected, and she stared at them for a second longer than necessary before pulling another note.
Protect Dad’s company.
Another pause, another breath, another thought she refused to overanalyze.
Find the truth.
Her hand hesitated again, hovering above the paper as though something inside her was resisting the final step, but then her expression tightened slightly and she wrote one last line anyway.
Make them pay.
She stopped after writing it, and instead of smiling or feeling victorious, she simply stared at the words as if trying to understand whether that version of herself was born from anger or survival.
Then she walked to the refrigerator and placed the notes there one by one, and only when she stepped back did she notice the older sticky notes still covering the surface like fragments of a life she didn’t remember building consciously.
Marry Thompson.
Have two children with him.
Support Nora financially.
Share everything.
Her gaze moved across each one slowly, and the longer she read them, the more her expression darkened, not with rage at first, but with something closer to disbelief, because none of those notes belonged to a woman who had ever considered herself first.
“I really lived like this…” she murmured under her breath, and the words felt heavier than they should have.
For a moment she didn’t move, and then she exhaled slowly, almost bitterly, before pulling the first note down.
Then the next and the next.
Each one tore away with a soft sound that filled the kitchen more than it should have, and by the time she finished, her hands were trembling slightly. She wasn’t becoming someone new.
She was simply refusing to stay who she had been.
Her phone suddenly buzzed on the counter, and the sound cut through her thoughts sharply enough that her body reacted before her mind did, although she already knew who it was before she even looked. It was that son of a b***h, Thompson.
The screen lit up again immediately after she ignored the first call, and then a message followed right after, and another, each one arriving faster than the last as if silence itself offended him.
She stared at the screen without picking it up, and instead of feeling panic like she might have before, she simply turned the phone over and let it fall silent, because answering him no longer felt like instinct, but like surrender.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
She opened it without hesitation, and the repairman stood there holding his tools while explaining he had come to replace the locks, and although she nodded politely, something inside her felt oddly steady as she watched the old lock being removed.
Metal clicked as the new lock slid into place.
A small, simple sound, yet it settled something in her chest that she hadn’t realized was still unsettled.
When he left, she stood there for a moment longer before putting on her running clothes, because staying inside was beginning to feel like sitting too long inside her own thoughts, and she needed distance from them.
The air outside was cooler than she expected, and she ran without rushing at first, letting her feet find rhythm while music played softly through her headphones, although even that couldn’t fully drown out her mind.
One step.
Then another.
The world blurred slightly at the edges as she moved, and for a brief while she almost managed to forget everything except the sound of her breathing.
But memories never stayed away for long.
Her pace slowed without permission when the street ahead began to look familiar, and her steps became heavier even though she had not consciously decided to stop.
She pulled one earbud out and then the other and silence rushed in all at once.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings slowly, and when they landed on the glass building across the road, something inside her tightened immediately, because even before her mind fully confirmed it, her body already knew.
A luxury car dealership.
Her feet stopped completely.
“No…” she whispered, although the word felt delayed, like it belonged to a version of her that hadn’t learned yet.
She took a step back, then another, but her gaze stayed locked on the building as fragments of memory forced their way through.
Last time, she had stood here smiling, she had walked inside without hesitation. Last time, she had chosen a car that would later become part of her death.
Her fingers curled slowly into her palms. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she said under her breath, but even as she said it, she realized something unsettling.
She hadn’t walked here intentionally. Her route had changed so as her timing. Yet somehow, she had still ended up in the exact same place.
Before she could think further, a voice called her name. “Diana?”
Her body froze before she even turned, and when she did, she saw them.
Thompson stood there first, and beside him was Nora, but the moment Thompson saw her clearly, he instinctively stepped away from Nora, creating distance that looked casual, while Nora lowered her eyes as though she had already rehearsed how to appear harmless.
Thompson walked toward her quickly, his expression softening into concern as if nothing in the world had ever been wrong.
“I’ve been calling you,” he said, reaching for her hand, “why weren’t you answering me?”
Diana looked at his hand, and instead of taking it like she used to, she simply studied it as if it belonged to a stranger.
His voice continued, gentle, familiar, almost comforting. “I was worried about you,” he added, stepping closer. “You disappeared for hours.”
Diana finally lifted her gaze to his face, and for a brief second she noticed how easily he still performed love, how effortlessly he wore concern like clothing.
The old her would have melted into it.
The new her simply observed it.
- Writer
