CHAPTER FIVE

TRICIA'S POV

The slap still burned on my cheek long after Oliver had stormed out of the room.

It wasn’t just the pain but it was the humiliation, the betrayal.

The moment I realized that the man I once called my husband had turned into a stranger capable of hurting me without remorse.

I sat on the floor for hours, numb and shaking, staring at nothing.

When I finally gathered the strength to move, I reached for the door only to hear the metallic click of the lock from the outside.

Locked.

A cold laugh escaped me, bitter and hollow.

He had locked me in my own room like a prisoner.

“Oliver!” I shouted, banging on the door.

“Open this door! You can’t do this!”

His voice came faintly from the hallway, cruel and mocking.

“Stay there until you learn some respect, Tricia…You’re my wife…You don’t get to walk away.”

Then silence.

I sank back against the wall, trembling as tears streamed down my face.

Every wall in that house, the one I once decorated with love now felt like a cage.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands.

Miraculously, he hadn’t taken it… My heart pounded as I typed a message.

Tricia: Hendrix… he hit me…He locked me in the room…I don’t know what to do.

The reply came almost instantly.

Hendrix: Where are you right now? Are you hurt?

Tricia: In the bedroom. The door’s locked.

Hendrix: Okay. Don’t panic. I’ll get you out of there. Just listen carefully to what I say.

My hands trembled as I read every word that followed Hendrix’s plan was careful, deliberate, and dangerous.

He told me exactly what to do when Oliver eventually opened that door.

To stay calm, to act apologetic.

He told me to pretend I was sorry, that I wanted to make things right just long enough to earn his trust again.

Hendrix: Once he believes you’re back to being his obedient wife, wait for him to fall asleep…I’ll text you a time and an address…You’ll leave then…I’ll be waiting.

My tears returned but this time, not from pain but from relief and from hope.

For the first time in days, I wasn’t completely alone.

Hours passed before I heard Oliver’s footsteps again.

The key turned in the lock, and the door creaked open.

He stood there, arms crossed, looking smug and unbothered.

“Have you calmed down?” he asked.

I swallowed hard and forced a small, broken nod.

“Yes… I’m sorry, Oliver. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

He raised an eyebrow, suspicious but intrigued.

“Really?”

I looked down, twisting my hands together.

“I just… overreacted…I shouldn’t have said I wanted a divorce…I don’t want to lose you.”

He walked closer, searching my face for a lie.

My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

“Hmm,” he muttered.

“Maybe you’ve learned your place.”

I forced a weak smile.

“I have.”

He reached out and brushed his fingers against my cheek, the same cheek he had slapped.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back.

I needed to play along…Just one more night.

The hours that followed felt like torture.

I moved like a ghost through the house, nodding when he spoke, smiling when required, pretending everything was fine. Inside, I was screaming.

When he reached for me that night, I froze.

Every part of me wanted to recoil, to scream “no,” but I forced myself to endure it because I knew this was my last night here.

The moment he fell asleep, I laid there for a few minutes, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.

His arm rested lazily over me, his breath steady and oblivious.

Then, quietly, I slid out of bed.

Every sound felt too loud, the floor creaking, the drawer sliding open.

I grabbed my bag, a small stash of cash I’d hidden months ago, and the letter I’d written earlier while pretending to fold laundry.

It was short, cold and Final.

Oliver,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Don’t look for me…Don’t call me..Don’t send anyone after me.

You said I couldn’t survive without you, but you’ll see how wrong you were.

I’m leaving the papers you refused to sign…you can now marry your mistress, my sister.

Goodbye, Oliver.

— Tricia

I placed it neatly on his nightstand beside the glass of water he always kept there.

Then, holding my breath, I tiptoed out of the room, down the stairs, and through the side door that led to the garden.

The cold night air hit my face as freedom filled my lungs for the first time in years.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Hendrix.

Hendrix: The car is parked two streets away …be there in ten minutes and don’t look back.

I ran barefooted, trembling, but alive.

When I reached the car, Hendrix was there waiting…his face tight with worry.

The moment our eyes met, the weight I’d carried for years began to lift.

He opened the door for me without a word, and I climbed in.

The car pulled away from the house that once held my dreams and now my nightmares.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

The silence said everything.

Finally, Hendrix reached over and gently took my hand.

“You did it,” he said quietly.

“You’re free now.”

A tear slipped down my cheek as I smiled weakly.

“I don’t even know what freedom feels like anymore.”

He glanced at me, his voice steady.

“You’re about to find out.”

We reached the train station before dawn.

The air smelled of rain and iron. People moved briskly around us, faces blurred in the mist.

I held onto my small bag as we boarded the train.

When the wheels began to move, I turned to look out the window one last time.

The city lights faded into the distance like ghosts of a life I was done mourning.

Hendrix sat beside me, quiet but close.

There was safety in his silence but one thing I didn't understand was why he risked all for me.

As the train crossed the border, I whispered to myself, my reflection staring back from the glass.

“It’s time for me to shine… like the star I always was.”

And for the first time in years, I believed it.