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“You heard me. I’ve found somewhere to live,” I repeat more slowly this time, making sure he hears every word. “Oh, and I’ll email you the cost of the furniture that’s mine. I expect full value otherwise, I’m coming back for it, with solicitors. I purchased it from my account, and like you, I have receipts.
“You don’t have to be nasty,” he says, his voice sulky.
“Oh, I’m not being nasty. I’m being practical. I just want what I’m owed.”
“I don’t recognise you,” he says.
“No, I don’t suppose you do, but when you mistreat a dog, you better watch out.” I pause before adding. “I’ll leave the key and pass with the concierge. Expect my email. Goodbye, Vince.”
“Wait-what am I supposed to tell Yas?”
“I really don’t care,” I say, disconnecting before he can say anything else.
I drop onto the sofa, unable to keep the grin from my face. The doormat who has put up with so much for the past ten years has finally realised what a mug she’s been. Friday night has helped to open my eyes. Yes, it hurts. I have amazing memories of our time together, memories I’m trying hard not to tarnish. But people change. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve been drifting along in a bubble of convenience. As for Yas being upset. I can almost feel sorry for her, but then again, I don’t. She slept with Vince, knowing he was engaged to someone else. If she had any morals, she’d have told him to leave me first. As for announcing she’s pregnant in the bar...no. I have zero sympathy, she can suck it up.
I spend the next week packing my belongings and cataloguing the furniture. Over the years, I’ve been meticulous about keeping receipts and documents. Maybe subconsciously, I knew this day was coming. Should he dispute it, I send Vince the bill and photocopies of every receipt. Instead, he surprises me by paying me on the same day. Pocket change to him.
Saturday morning, Stella and Nat arrive early. I’ve packed up all my ornaments, photographs and soft furnishings. Choosing to ignore the fact my life at thirty-four fits neatly into eight boxes and two suitcases.
The apartment looks like a show home. The sides are empty. As things are packed away, I realise it is me who made this a home. All my trinkets and soft furnishings. It doesn’t even look the same. Well, Yasmin has a blank canvas with which to work.
I wheel my two suitcases out of the bedroom.
“So, you ready?” Nat asks, coming to stand next to me.
“I am,” I say, giving the apartment the once over.
Despite my better judgement, I’m leaving the place immaculate. I moved everything out and cleaned it meticulously. I don’t want Yasmin to say I was slovenly to anyone. I’ve too much pride for that.
“Let’s go,” Stella says, taking one of my bags. “The taxis are downstairs in the car park. Security just called to say they’ve let them in. We should be able to load up quickly and get you moved.”
I smile over at my friend and turn my back on the apartment. Time to move on. This is no longer my home. I don’t even recognise it. However, that may have something to do with my rearranging all the furniture last night.
We move all the boxes out and down into the taxis. I climb into the first taxi, stacked with boxes. Stella and Nat are getting the second with my clothes. Before I can close the door, Stella clasps my hand.
“You’ve got this,” she says, squeezing my fingers.
I pinch my lips together and incline my head before smiling. “I do.”
One thing the past two months have shown me is that life without Vince is not what I thought it would be. The massive crater I feared when he first left doesn’t exist. All I feel is a sense of relief.
“See you on the other side,” she says, shutting the door and running back to the second taxi. The meters are ticking up, but I don’t really care. I savour the moment. Realising I’m not the broken wallflower Vince wants me to be, that I’m stronger than that and always have been. Something I forgot every time I let him take charge. Well, that will not happen again.
I, Leah Walker, am in charge of my destiny from this moment on.
The taxi journey is short. El Castillo is only around the corner, so the two taxi fares end up being less than I feared. We unload the boxes into the underground garage. I see Gabriel’s car parked to one side, along with many other beautiful cars. I really am moving into Millionaire Plaza.
“Wow, these are some serious motors,” Stella whispers.
“I know,” I say, hoisting the first box onto my hip and grabbing a case handle.
The security guard rushes over. “Ms Walker?” he asks.
“Er, yes,” I say. “Is there a problem? I’m moving in today.”
“I know Ms Walker,” he says, smiling warmly. “Mr Frazer informed us. The concierge is sending someone down with a trolley. Are these your belongings?”
He motions to the boxes and cases.
