Chapter 2 — Farewell to Manhattan

Bridget

The chill of the Manhattan morning seeped through the high windows of the penthouse as Bridget stood frozen in the cavernous living room. The icy light of early dawn filtered through the glass, casting fractured patterns on the marble floors. Her hand rested on the packing box in front of her, its edges sharp against her palm. She had spent hours agonizing over what to take, what to leave. Each item seemed to carry more weight than its size or use—memories woven into fabric, glass, and paper. The sonogram photo, now carefully tucked between the pages of her journal, rested in her bag. Out of sight, but never truly away from her thoughts.

She hesitated over a pair of wine glasses, thin and delicate. They had been a wedding gift. Her thumb brushed the rim of one glass, and she was struck by a memory of laughter and clinking toasts. That moment had felt perfect. But now the memory felt like a cruel trick. She set the glasses aside, her throat tightening. Some things were better left behind.

Bridget’s breath came shallow as she tried to push aside her emotions. Thoughts of the night before swirled in her mind: Nathaniel’s betrayal, his cold accusations, Alice’s venomous smirk. Her hands trembled as she folded a sweater into the box, the fabric wrinkling under her grip. She paused, steadying herself with a deep inhale. *This is the right choice,* she thought. *For me. For my child.*

The soft hum of the elevator broke through the silence, followed by the sharp, deliberate click of heels. Bridget turned, her stomach knotting as Evelyn Anderson entered the room. Nathaniel’s mother exuded the same aura of perfection as always—her steel-gray hair swept into a chignon, her tailored navy suit flawless. She carried herself like someone who expected the world to bend to her will. The faint scent of her perfume, crisp and floral, preceded her like a warning.

“So,” Evelyn said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “It’s true. You’re leaving.”

Bridget straightened, her chin lifting despite the unease curling in her stomach. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady but quiet.

Evelyn’s eyes swept the room, taking in the boxes, the stripped furniture, the void where Bridget’s life had been packed away. “And I suppose you think this is brave,” Evelyn said, stepping farther into the room. Her voice dripped with disdain. “Running away. Abandoning your husband when things get difficult.”

Bridget’s fingers tightened around the edge of the box. Anger and hurt flared in her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Nathaniel made his choices,” she said, each word deliberate. “I’m making mine. For me. And for my child.”

For a brief moment, Evelyn’s composed mask slipped. Her lips parted slightly, her cool blue eyes narrowing as they flicked toward Bridget’s stomach. The mention of the baby had pierced her armor, but she recovered quickly, her expression hardening again.

“Your child,” Evelyn repeated, her tone sharp. “And how, exactly, do you plan to raise this child on your own? Without the resources, the connections, or the stability Nathaniel provides?”

Bridget swallowed hard, her breath hitching. Evelyn’s words were designed to cut, to sow doubt. But Bridget refused to let them take root. She stepped closer, her pale green eyes locking with Evelyn’s. “I will manage,” she said, her voice firm. “Because my child deserves better than the lies and betrayals this family is built on.”

Evelyn’s jaw tightened, her carefully polished facade cracking just slightly. Her silence hung heavy in the air, charged with unspoken hostility. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost a whisper. “You’re making a mistake. You think you can walk away from this—walk away from everything Nathaniel gave you—without consequences?”

Bridget’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to stand tall. “The mistake I made,” she said, her voice steady, “was thinking any of this was real.”

For a moment, Evelyn seemed at a loss for words. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes darkened with something Bridget couldn’t quite place—loss, fear, or perhaps anger at her own inability to control the situation. She turned sharply on her heels, her movements precise. “Suit yourself,” she said coolly, her tone tinged with finality. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bridget remained still as Evelyn left, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The sound echoed through the penthouse, growing fainter until it disappeared entirely. The tension in Bridget’s body eased slightly, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled a shaky breath. She rubbed her hands together, trying to stop their trembling. The confrontation had shaken her, but it hadn’t broken her.

She turned back to the packing box, taping it shut with slow, deliberate movements. Her hands lingered on the edges of the box, tracing the lines as though grounding herself in the present. When she finally stood, she glanced around the penthouse one last time. The cold, impersonal space that had once been her home now felt more like a cage. Her gaze settled on the bedroom doorway. She took a step toward it, pausing as memories flickered through her mind—laughter, whispered promises, the warmth of an embrace she had thought was safe. She shook her head, banishing the thoughts. Those moments had been illusions, nothing more.

Her fingers brushed the locket resting against her chest, its delicate chain cool against her skin. She clutched it tightly, drawing strength from the unknown connection it represented. With one last look at the stark, empty room, she turned and walked away.

Hours later, Bridget descended the elevator for the final time. Her carry-on bag was slung over her shoulder, her journal pressed tightly against her side. The boxes had already been sent ahead. As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped into the bustling lobby, the noise and chaos of Manhattan just outside the glass doors. She hesitated for a moment, her reflection staring back at her in the polished steel of the elevator’s interior. She looked tired, worn, but resolute.

The driver waiting by the curb greeted her with a polite nod as he loaded her bags into the trunk. “Heading to the airport?” he asked.

“Yes,” Bridget replied, her voice softer than she expected. She climbed into the back seat, settling into the worn leather as the car pulled away.

The streets of Manhattan blurred past the window, their sharp edges softened by the frost on the glass. Bridget’s gaze lingered on the towering skyscraper she had just left behind. It loomed above her, its sleek facade reflecting the pale morning light. For a moment, she felt a pang of something—grief, perhaps, or relief. She wasn’t sure which. But as the car turned the corner, the building disappeared from view, and she shifted her focus forward.

The flight to Spain was long and restless. Bridget clutched her locket throughout the journey, her thumb tracing the intricate patterns as her thoughts raced. She had no clear plan, no roadmap for the life she hoped to build. Only the certainty that she couldn’t stay in Manhattan. Her mind lingered on Ethan’s first kick, the pure joy she had felt in that moment. That memory anchored her, reminding her of what truly mattered.

When the plane finally touched down, the Mediterranean breeze greeted her with warmth and the scent of the sea. Bridget stepped onto the tarmac, the sunlight casting everything in a golden glow. The contrast to Manhattan’s icy grayness was striking, almost dreamlike. She inhaled deeply, letting the moment settle over her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of hope—a faint but steady spark.

The car ride to the small coastal town was quiet, the landscape unfolding around her in serene beauty. Rolling hills dotted with olive trees stretched toward the horizon, and whitewashed houses with colorful shutters lined the narrow streets. The faint sound of church bells drifted in the distance, mingling with the warm hum of conversation from a nearby cafe. Bridget pressed a hand to her stomach, a quiet promise forming in her mind. *This is where I will rebuild. For Ethan. For me.*

When the car stopped, she stepped onto a cobblestone street alive with color and life. Flower baskets hung from balconies, their blooms vibrant against the soft white walls of the buildings. She took a deep breath, her heart beating steadily as she walked toward the small inn where she would stay. Each step felt like a quiet declaration: she was leaving behind the broken pieces of her past and moving toward something new. The road ahead was uncertain, but it was hers to walk. And that, for now, was enough.