Chapter 2 - The Coast of Nowhere
Five months later.
The Oregon rain tapped a steady, rhythmic beat against the glass of the second-story window.
Amy sat in an oversized armchair, a mug of decaf tea resting on the windowsill, watching the gray waves crash against the harbor docks.
She rested one hand on her swollen stomach.
The baby kicked. A strong, sharp jab against her ribs.
Amy smiled, tracing circles over the fabric of her oversized sweater. “I know, little one. I’m awake.”
Her life in Newport was nothing like New York.
There were no galas. No tailored suits. No waiting up until 2:00 A.M. wondering if her husband was in a boardroom or a hotel bar.
She lived above a small, dusty bookstore owned by an elderly man named Silas, who asked no questions and paid her in cash to organize the inventory and run the register three days a week.
She went by her maiden name, Amy Hayes.
She bought her groceries at the local market, walked along the rocky beach when the weather permitted, and spent her evenings reading in the quiet sanctuary of her small apartment.
She had never felt so alone.
And she had never felt so safe.
The first few weeks had been agonizing. She had cried until her throat was raw. She had stared at her phone, watching the missed calls pile up—dozens from Daniel, hundreds from his assistant, his mother, his lawyers.
She had thrown the phone into the harbor on her fourth day in Oregon.
She bought a cheap prepaid cell, contacted only her friend Claire, and hired a private attorney in Portland to handle the separation paperwork.
She instructed the lawyer to refuse all contact with Daniel’s legal team unless it pertained to the divorce decree. She asked for nothing. No alimony. No share of Harrison Freight Systems. No Manhattan real estate.
She only demanded sole physical custody, with a generous, heavily structured visitation agreement for Daniel.
She didn't want to punish him by keeping his child away.
She just refused to be his wife anymore.
The bell above the bookstore door chimed downstairs.
It was 8:00 A.M. on a Tuesday. The store wasn't open yet.
Amy frowned. Silas usually didn't arrive until nine.
She pushed herself out of the chair, her hand supporting her lower back, and walked slowly toward the top of the wooden staircase.
“Silas?” she called out. “Did you forget your keys again?”
There was no answer.
Only the heavy, ragged sound of someone breathing in the silence of the shop.
Amy froze on the top step.
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the tall bookshelves, moving into the dim light at the bottom of the stairs.
May you like
He was soaking wet. His dark coat was plastered to his shoulders. He looked thinner, exhausted, and completely broken.
It was Daniel.
