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CHAPTER SIX
Late morning light pierced the curtains as Charlotte stirred in her bed, feeling groggy and disoriented. The taste of stale alcohol lingered in her mouth, and she blinked several times, trying to shake off the haze that clouded her mind. Last night's drinking session with Roxanne had been a much-needed escape from the cold, hard reality of her crumbling marriage. Yet now, as her head throbbed and her vision swam, she regretted the lastseveralglasses.
"Ugh," she muttered, rubbing her temples and propping herself up on her elbows. The room seemed to tilt and sway around her, fragments of memories from the previous night floating in and out of her consciousness like ghosts. As an artist, Charlotte was no stranger to the allure of escapism, but today it felt more like a cruel joke than a comfort.
Suddenly, her phone rang from somewhere amidst the tangled sheets, its shrill tone jarring her back to full awareness. She fumbled blindly for the device, her heart pounding in sudden panic.
"Hello?" she croaked, her voice barely recognizable through the fog of her hangover.
"Charlotte, is that you?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded concerned, yet oddly familiar. "It’s Helen from the bank. I've been trying to reach you all morning! Are you all right?"
The concern in the voice momentarily pulled Charlotte out of her confusion. It was comforting to know someone cared—even if it was only her favorite bank teller, and even if everything else seemed to be falling apart.
“Yeah, fine. I—why are you calling? I’m sorry, it’s just unusual…”
"Charlotte, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Daniel has emptied your joint bank accounts," Helen said, her tone grave and urgent. “I just froze. Another teller had to help him. I got a bad feeling when you weren’t there.”
"Wh-what?" Charlotte stuttered, her heart skipping a beat. The fog in her head lifted for a brief moment as panic surged through her veins. Her grip tightened around the phone, knuckles turning white with tension. "That can't be right. There must be some mistake."
"There's no mistake. I've checked and double-checked the records. Everything is gone," Helen replied, apologetic and solemn.
Charlotte's chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. She sank back into the pillows, feeling like she had just been punched in the gut. Waves of panic washed over her, followed by an overwhelming sense of disbelief. How could Daniel have done something so cruel and heartless? They had built their lives together—he had said himself that she’d been by his side without fail—and now he was ripping it all away from her without a second thought.
As the reality of her situation began to sink in, Charlotte felt a cold dread creeping up her spine, settling in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight. With the joint accounts drained, she would struggle to pay the bills, let alone maintain her life. And how could she start painting full-time without money? She had a small nest egg, but that would quickly run out.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as her vision blurred. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, trying to choke back the sob that threatened to escape her lips. "I-I don't understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "How could he do this to me?"
Helen hesitated, sympathy evident in every word. "I don't know, Charlotte. But I have to go. I could get in trouble for even calling you now."
Charlotte nodded, as though Helen could see her, her throat still too tight for words. She swallowed several times until she could speak. “Thanks, Helen.”
She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. She couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity any longer – not when her entire life was at stake. Her future depended on her ability to act quickly and decisively, even if it meant stepping out of her comfort zone.
"Alright," she murmured to herself, grabbing a notebook and pen from the bedside table and fighting the nausea that rose from her impressive hangover. "Let's start with finding a job." She began scribbling down ideas, listing possible opportunities and connections. As an artist, she knew it wouldn't be easy to secure a stable income, but she was willing to do whatever it took to regain control over her life. She could work an office job, or even wait tables.
Charlotte's phone buzzed on the bed, interrupting her train of thought. Picking it up, she saw a flight alert notification flashing on the screen:Flight BA219 to London Heathrow departing at 1:00 p.m. today.Digital check-in available. Please click here when you arrive at the gate.
"Wait, what?" Charlotte blinked in surprise, not recalling having booked a flight at all. Last night's drunken haze had left her memory foggy, but as she stared at the notification, fragments of recollection swirled within her mind. A conversation with Roxanne about starting fresh, the picture of Chesham Cove, a spontaneous decision to book a ticket. It seemed too surreal to be true, yet there it was, in plain text on her screen.
"London?" she whispered. For a moment, she considered ignoring the notification and carrying on with her efforts to find a job. But as she gazed at the wordsLondon Heathrowfor a few seconds more, an idea began to blossom in her mind. Charlotte couldn't deny the allure of the opportunity that lay before her. She had a flight booked and paid for—and as she checked her email for the payment confirmation, it seemed that she’d bought the ticket with money from the joint account before Daniel had cleaned it out. Now, with nothing left to lose, the prospect of leaving behind the remnants of her failed marriage seemed more and more enticing.
Charlotte's fingers hovered over the screen, trembling with uncertainty. It was as if there was a fierce internal battle taking place between her fear of the unknown and the longing for change. Her heart thudded in her chest, beating out a rhythm that echoed the words "London" and "Heathrow" in her mind.
"Roxanne always said I should travel more," she muttered to herself, grasping at any reason to make this sudden, impulsive decision feel right. What was stopping her from going to England to find a job and start anew? If she failed, she’d just come home after a couple weeks to no worse a situation than she left.
Charlotte tossed her phone onto the bed and sprang into reasonable-for-being-hungover action. She yanked open the closet door, grabbing clothes haphazardly and stuffing them into her suitcase. She almost smiled at how easy it was to get her luggage out now that Daniel's wasn't taking up space at the top of the closet. The sound of fabric rustling and zippers being pulled filled the room, drowning out the lingering doubts that still tried to take hold of her.
"London, here I come," she declared. A pair of jeans landed on the bed beside her phone, followed by a handful of shirts, underwear, and socks. Each item added propelled her to move faster, more decisively.
"Passport, wallet, toothbrush," she muttered under her breath like a mantra, ensuring she had everything she needed for the journey ahead. Time seemed to slip away from her, each tick of the clock only adding to the growing sense of urgency within her. It was nine now—the flight reminder had said takeoff at one. She could exchange currency when she arrived, and her cell phone had a plan that allowed international… She was sure she could figure out the details on the way. People had been travelling abroad for much longer—and in far less digital eras—than Charlotte.
Finally, with her suitcase filled to the brim, Charlotte took a shaky breath and zipped it closed. She glanced around the room one last time, taking in the life she was about to leave behind. Her eyes lingered on the now-empty closet, the hastily-made bed, and the phone still displaying that fateful flight alert.
"Goodbye, old life," she murmured. And with a final deep breath, Charlotte grabbed her suitcase and strode purposefully toward the door, ready to embrace whatever awaited her across the ocean.
Charlotte's hand trembled as she locked the front door behind her. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the familiar chipped paint on the doorjamb, a door that had once welcomed her into a home full of love and laughter. Now, it was just a symbol of what used to be.
"England, here I come," she said with more confidence, summoning every ounce of courage she possessed.
