Page 36 of The Professor's Wife

He slept like a man untouched by chaos. Like the world hadn’t stopped for him. Like he was living fully. I envied him.

Deeply.

I couldn’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to follow in his steps. How would I do it? I barely got a second into thinking about it before I hit a dead end.

It wasn’t possible.

I had no plan, no money, no way to make the life behind me disappear. Sooner or later, I would have to face the noise and shed the last decade with my head held high.

I was lying to myself.

My head wouldn’t be high.

It would be bowed.

I trembled just thinking about my actions. How foolish I was. How far-reaching the consequences would be.

I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and sighed. I had an hour before checkout.

I left Tristan sleeping and stepped out into the sunlight.

My room came with free coffee. I had seen the machine in the main office. It looked sad, but it was free.

And free coffee was still coffee.

The office was empty except for the receptionist, who barely looked up from her phone to mumble a bored, “Good morning.”

I grabbed a Styrofoam cup.

“There’s sugar and cream,” she said, motioning to the serving station.

“I like my coffee black,” I replied, ignoring her stare as I filled the cup to the brim and walked out.

I needed to be invisible. Hard to do in this dress. Not the best outfit to ditch your life in, but I hadn’t exactly had options at the time.

I sipped the bitter coffee on my way back. The motel grounds were waking up. Kids ran past me, moms barked orders, tired husbands lugged bags. Tourists in sun hats and trendy sunglasses smiled wide.

I didn’t smile back.

I felt itchy. Nervous.

Then I saw it—a cop car parked across the street.

My heart jumped.

I spun around and walked the other way, ducking behind a donut van that had been closed last night but was bustling now. I pretended to wait in line, my eyes fixed on the police car.

No movement. No uniforms.

I scanned the motel lot.

Nothing.

Maybe being out in the open was a mistake.

I ditched the line and hurried back.

Don’t run.