THE PAIN OF LEAVING

THE PAIN OF LEAVING

Amber did not want to appeal Ethan’s decision. There was no strength left to fight for something he had decided to end without looking back.

In the early hours of the morning, when the mansion slept under absolute silence, she got up without making a sound. The hallway lights were off, and only the pale reflection of the moon illuminated the floor. She walked to the guest room, where she had spent the night pretending that everything was fine, and began to gather her things.

There were not many. A couple of dresses, a coat, the perfume Ethan had once praised, and the gifts she had bought for her little siblings. She packed everything into the suitcase with clumsy movements, holding back her tears so as not to wake Ethan.

She dragged the suitcase down the hallway to the front door. She stopped there.

She looked back one last time. It hurt too much to leave that place. Regardless of how things had unfolded, she had been happy there, at least for a few months.

The echo of her footsteps resounded against the marble, and for an instant she imagined that he would come down the stairs, that he would ask her not to go. But it did not happen.

The mansion remained mute, imposing, cold.

The icy air of dawn hit her like a blow.

She closed the door carefully and went down the steps. The wind tousled her hair, and the cold seeped into her bones.

That was life, she thought: a constant cycle of departures, losses, and silences.

Now she had money in her account. Enough to start over, to buy a house, to live peacefully… but none of it comforted her. She was empty.

She did not have her siblings, nor Ethan, nor a place she could call home.

Before she broke down crying again, she raised her hand and stopped a taxi.

She asked the driver to take her to a hotel.

The hotel was discreet, with a modern façade and a sober atmosphere.

She left the suitcase on the floor and sat on the bed, motionless. The silence of the place was the complete opposite of the noise in her head.

She picked up her phone and dialed Miranda’s number.

"Amber… what happened?" her friend asked on the other end, half asleep.

"I need to see you," she whispered. "Please, come."

Miranda arrived less than half an hour later. The moment she crossed the door, Amber threw herself at her and hugged her tightly, breaking down in tears.

"It’s over," she said between sobs. "Ethan threw me out. He said he didn’t need me anymore, the bastard broke up with me."

Miranda held her against her chest, running a hand through her hair.

"That son of a bitch…" she muttered angrily. "How could he do this to you after everything? Although, Amber, what surprises you? You already knew that a relationship with that man was going to end badly. It was a contract."

Amber shook her head.

"I knew what I was doing, Miranda. I knew he didn’t love me, but…" her voice broke. "I didn’t think it would hurt this much. It’s just that I… I… I fell in love, Miranda. Like an idiot, I fell in love."

Miranda held her face, forcing her to look at her.

"Listen to me carefully, Amber. You are not going to fall apart over that guy. You are young, beautiful, and strong. You are going to get through this. And what do you mean you fell in love? You got married out of necessity, for money. Tell me, at least did he pay you?"

Amber sighed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"Yes, of course he paid me. You don’t understand…" she said in a barely audible voice. "He was my first man. I don’t know how to go on without him."

Silence took over the room for a moment. Miranda did not know what to say. She saw her so fragile, so broken, that any words seemed insufficient.

"The world doesn’t end, Amber," she finally said. "It just changes. You’re going to start over, you’re going to laugh again, you’ll see. And there are plenty of men out there, and much more handsome than that idiot who thinks he’s the most powerful dick in the city."

"Miranda!"

Amber tried to smile, though the smile quickly faded. She walked to the minibar, took a bottle of whisky, and opened it clumsily.

"Then let’s toast," she said, pouring two glasses. "To us, to the women who always choose wrong."

Miranda laughed bitterly.

"To us," she repeated, clinking her glass against Amber’s.

They drank the first shot in one gulp. The burn of the liquor scorched Amber’s throat, but she did not care. She wanted to stop thinking.

The second shot came quickly, and then the third.

They began to talk about life, about men, about love, and about the times they had had to pretend to be strong while inside they were falling apart.

The room filled with sad laughter, with confessions, with words that only women with broken hearts can understand.

As the bottle emptied, Amber became more vulnerable.

Her voice trembled, her laughter turned into tears.

"The only way to feel alive again…" she slurred, "is for Ethan to come back to me."

Miranda let out a bitter laugh.

"Don’t even dream it. That bastard doesn’t deserve your tears."

Amber shook her head, her gaze lost.

"You don’t understand, Miranda…" she said before staggering toward the bathroom.

Miranda followed immediately. Amber bent over the toilet, vomiting between sobs.

Her friend held her hair patiently, murmuring words that no longer even made sense.

"Easy… it will pass."

When it was over, Miranda helped her lie down. She took off her shoes, covered her with a sheet, and watched her in silence.

Amber stared blankly at the ceiling, still conscious but defeated.

"Sleep, please," Miranda said softly. "Tomorrow everything will look different."

Amber barely nodded. But Miranda, consumed by anger and helplessness, could not stay still.

She took her coat, turned off the lights, and left the hotel.

The afternoon was turning gray in Vancouver when Miranda arrived at Ethan’s office building.

She went up to the main floor like a storm.

Clarisa, the assistant, stood up from her chair when she saw her enter with determined steps.

"Miss, you can’t go in without an appointment," she said, trying to stop her.

"Save your words, Clarisa." Miranda gently pushed her aside. "I’m not leaving without talking to him."

Before the assistant could call security, Miranda had already thrown the door open.

The impact left her frozen.

Pamela was standing there, completely naked, her body barely covered by a veil of loose hair and an arrogant smile.

Ethan was in front of her, motionless, surprised, not touching her.

The scene, however, said more than enough.

Miranda assumed it immediately; she felt her blood boil.

"So this is what it was!" she shouted. "Is this why you kicked Amber out? Because you’re busy fucking some random slut like this?"

Pamela turned slowly, savoring the chaos.

Ethan took a step forward, raising his hands.

"It’s not what you think."

"Shut up!" Miranda screamed, trembling with rage. "This woman could be your mother, do you realize that? What kind of trash are you?"

Pamela let out a dry laugh.

"Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic, girl. Ethan always comes back to me, sooner or later."

"To her?" Miranda pointed at him with contempt. "You have no shame, Ethan. Amber is destroying herself over you, and you… you’re here, with this bitch."

Ethan tried to approach her, but Miranda stepped back.

"Don’t you dare," she warned him, holding back tears. "I don’t want to hear a single excuse."

She turned around and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

Ethan tried to follow her, but Pamela stopped him, grabbing his arm.

"Where do you think you’re going?" she whispered with a venomous smile.

He looked at her with an expression of disgust and rage.

"Let go of me, Pamela."

She pressed her body against his, so close that he could smell the sweet, cloying perfume she always used to manipulate him.

"Don’t play the dignified one, Ethan," she said, her voice low and provocative. "What we have is only just beginning. And now that you dumped that damn stupid girl, here I am to comfort you, baby."

Ethan looked away, frowning, his breathing growing unsteady.

For an instant, the weight of everything he had lost hit him with brutal force.

Amber, his mother, his own peace.

Everything was collapsing in front of him.

And Pamela, with a triumphant smile, knew she had won yet another battle.

Silence took over the office.

Ethan finally pulled free from her grip, but he did not say a word.

His eyes, dark and tired, revealed more than anger: a deep sadness, a guilt that was consuming him from within.

Pamela, on the other hand, smiled with satisfaction.

"You see?" she whispered, leaning close to his ear again. "You always end up coming back to me."

Ethan looked at her, without emotion, and replied in a low voice, almost a murmur:

"You’re wrong, Pamela. Not this time. Get the hell out of my fucking office! I already gave you the damn shares. I’m not sleeping with you. You disgust me, you fucking whore."

She raised an eyebrow, bewildered, but before she could respond, he left the office without looking back.

The hallway seemed endless.

Ethan walked with heavy steps, while his mind kept repeating a single image: Amber, leaving in silence, dragging her suitcase, her heart broken.

He needed to make sure she was not suffering, just as Miranda had shouted. If she was, he would crumble under the weight of the pain.