I rub the ache from my lower back as I step off the bus, my legs stiff from the endless ride. A soft breeze brushes past, carrying the gentle scent of pine and sun-warmed earth. Grabbing my duffel bag, I pull it tight against my shoulder, feeling the reassuring presence of the few possessions I own—clothes, my battered journal, and a couple of dog-eared books. I’ll probably leave those behind in exchange for pregnancy guides.

Once upon a time, my bedroom was larger than most studio apartments, complete with its own fridge stocked with overpriced water and imported chocolates. Back then, even my snack choices were meticulously curated for appearances. Now, I’m lucky if the motel I crash at has a working air conditioner.

And you know what? I don’t mind. Not really. Sure, the beds are lumpy, and the neon signs buzz annoyingly all night, but there’s something oddly freeing about it. Out here, I’m invisible. Lonely, sure, but at least I can finally breathe. I’m no longer someone else’s pawn or the punching bag of a sociopath.

There’s no more attachment to Winston Reginald Worthington IV. Even his name feels like a slap. I don’t know how I ever said it with a straight face, let alone introduced myself as Mrs. Winston Reginald Worthington IV. Rarely allowed to use my own name—Henrietta. He always made it seem like an afterthought, a mere footnote to his existence.

I twist the fraying strap of my duffel bag around my finger, pulling until it stings—a nervous habit I can’t seem to shake. I know they’re looking for me. My family. Winston’s family. They don’t give up easily. Marrying me off was never about love. It was about mergers, fortunes, and legacies. Things I couldn’t care less about. My father explained it once, going on about securing our empire’s future, but I had already learned how to tune him out. He lost the right to my obedience a long time ago.

And Winston? God, Winston. To him, I was never a partner. Never even a person. Just a smart investment, another asset in his meticulously curated portfolio.

But that’s over now.

If I have to keep running for the rest of my life, so be it. I’d rather disappear into nothing than spend another moment trapped in the life my parents built for me—with a man who thought I was . . . let it go. It’s no longer important. Focus on this small town and what you can do here.