Lena sat alone in the kitchen, surrounded by warmth and evidence of family, and let herself cry for the first time since Marcus had thrown her away. The guest room was beautiful in that understated way expensive things were. Cream walls, soft gray bedding, furniture that looked antique, but probably wasn't. The attached bathroom had one of those rainfall showers, and enough counter space for an actual morning routine. Lena set her suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed and just stood there, not sure what to do with herself.
Through the window, she could see snow still falling heavy and thick, the kind that would shut down the whole city by morning. She should shower, should wash away the day and try to sleep, but she couldn't make herself move. Her body felt disconnected from her brain, operating on autopilot while her thoughts spiraled. Tomorrow she'd have to face reality. Figure out where to go, how to stretch $243 into something resembling a plan.
Find a job, find housing, find a way to build a life from the wreckage Marcus had left her with. But tonight she was warm and safe, and nobody was demanding anything from her. She showered eventually, standing under water so hot it turned her skin pink, using the expensive soap that smelled like lavender and something else she couldn't name. The towels were thick and soft. Everything in this house was soft.
When she finally crawled into bed, the sheets were cool and smooth. The mattress exactly the right firmness. She should have fallen asleep immediately. Should have been exhausted enough to just shut down. Instead, she lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around her.
Footsteps overhead, Adrien getting the kids to bed, probably the creak of old pipes, the whistle of wind against the windows. She thought about Marcus, about the house they'd shared, the life they'd built, how he'd looked at her across the dinner table last week, and she thought everything was fine, how stupid she'd been, her phone was still dead. She should charge it. Should check to see if he'd texted, if his lawyer had already sent the divorce papers, if anyone had noticed she was gone. But she didn't want to know.
Didn't want to see evidence of how little she'd mattered, how easily she'd been erased. Sleep came eventually, fitful and full of dreams she wouldn't remember. She woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows, and for a brief disoriented moment, couldn't remember where she was. Then it all came crashing back. The bus shelter, Adrien, the kids, the huge house that wasn't hers.
The clock on the nightstand read 8:30, late for her. Marcus had always insisted on 6:00 a.m. starts, coffee by 6:15, breakfast by 6:30. a schedule that left no room for deviation. She lay there for a while listening. The house was quiet but not silent. Someone was moving around downstairs.
The smell of coffee drifted up through the vents. She should get up. Should thank Adrien again and figure out her next move. But the bed was warm and the world outside felt impossibly hard to face. A knock on the door made her jump.