Then she looks away.
I don’t wait to understand why. I slip through the service door into the yard.
Cold air hits me hard. The sky is low and gray, the estate walls dark against it. A delivery van idles near the east gate while a guard checks paperwork with the driver. The gate is open only halfway.
Not enough.
Then the guard steps back and waves the van through.
I move with it. Close to the side, hidden from the main angle, walking fast enough to keep pace but not fast enough to draw attention. The van’s engine growls beside me. Gravel crunches under my shoes. The open gate comes closer.
For one terrible second, I’m certain someone will shout my name.
No one does.
The van passes through.
So do I.
Outside the estate wall, the road curves toward a line of trees. I keep walking until the gate is out of sight. Only then do I let myself breathe properly.
I’m out.
The realization should feel like freedom.
It feels like stepping off a ledge.
The road is longer than I remember. I walk quickly, head down, scarf pulled close around my face. Every car that passes makes my shoulders tense. Every sound behind me makes me want to run. I resist every instinct that tells me to.
The flower market is fifteen minutes away, maybe less, but the distance feels endless. By the time I reach it, my palms are damp inside my gloves and my pulse is wild. People move around me carrying bunches of roses and lilies, wrapped in paper, tied with string. The normalness of it makes me feel sick.
There’s a line of taxis near the curb. I choose the oldest one because the driver barely looks up from his cigarette.
I open the back door and get in. “South canal,” I say, giving him the street name from memory.
He glances at me in the mirror. “That area is mostly warehouses.”
“I know.”
“You sure?”
I meet his eyes in the mirror.
He looks away first. “Fine.”
The taxi pulls into traffic. I sit back, one hand on my stomach, the other gripping the edge of the seat. The farther we drive from the estate, the louder my thoughts become.
He will search the house.
He will know I left.
He will tear the city apart.
And when he finds me, if he finds me, I don’t know whether he will hold me or rage at me first. I will lose his trust forever.
The taxi turns onto the road leading toward the canal. The buildings grow older, lower, more spread out. Warehouses appear behind rusted fences. Broken windows. Empty lots. Trucks parked in muddy yards.
My heart starts pounding again.
