One week later, I found myself standing in front of a modest apartment complex with my suitcase and a few essentials. The decision to leave my own home, my sanctuary, where I had made countless memories with Martha, was not something I had taken lightly. But the moment I walked out of that house, I realized I was stepping into a new chapter—one where I could reclaim my sense of self-respect and peace.
The first few days were a blur of new routines and unfamiliar surroundings. The apartment was smaller, but it was enough. It was mine. The quiet was both comforting and jarring after the chaos that Harry and Tiffany brought into my life. I spent the initial days settling in, unpacking my belongings, and setting up the space to feel more like home. There was a kind of liberating clarity in knowing that every decision, every choice, was solely mine.
Early Saturday morning, a week after I’d left, I decided to tackle the grocery shopping and stock up on a few necessities. As I walked through the aisles of the local supermarket, I felt a sense of independence I hadn’t felt in years. There was no rush, no list dictated by someone else. Just me, choosing what I wanted, moving at my own pace. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it felt significant.
