That night, I packed a single suitcase. I folded my clothes slowly, trying not to cry too loudly in the empty bedroom that once held laughter, arguments, and quiet evenings watching television together.
By morning, I was gone.
I had nowhere to go.
My savings were small, and I didn’t want to burden friends who had their own families and problems. So I checked into the cheapest motel I could find on the edge of town.
The room smelled faintly of bleach and old carpet. The bed creaked when I sat down. A flickering lamp buzzed softly in the corner.
I told myself it was temporary.
But every night, lying there alone, I felt smaller than I ever had in my life.
Two weeks passed like that.
Then something strange began happening.
I started noticing the same woman around the neighborhood near the motel. At first, I thought it was coincidence. She’d be across the street one day, then standing near the grocery store another day.
She never approached me.
But she always seemed to be watching.
At first, I ignored it.
By the fourth time I saw her, fear crept in.
Was someone following me? Had Greg sent someone? Was I being robbed?
One afternoon, after spotting her again outside a small café, I’d had enough.
I turned around sharply and walked straight toward her.
“Why are you following me?” I demanded.
The woman froze.
For a moment, she looked just as frightened as I felt.
Then she stepped forward suddenly and grabbed my arm.
“You must know that you’re not alone!”
Her voice was loud—almost desperate.
My heart pounded.
I thought I was in danger.
But before I could pull away, the woman’s face crumpled.
