Too Late 9

Chapter 9 

Switzerland was colder than I imagined. Not just the weather-though the sharp air bit into my skin-but the silence, the unfamiliar streets, the echo of starting over. Still, I welcomed it. This was my choice. My escape. My beginning. 

I stared out the window of the cab as snow drifted past. Everything here looked like a painting- pristine, quiet, untouched. It was nothing like the chaos I’d left behind. 

had finally accepted the scholarship I once turned down. Years ago, I was offered a spot in one of Europe’s top art schools, a dream I put on hold because I didn’t want to leave River. I thought oving him meant staying. I thought choosing him over myself was romantic. 

was wrong. 

He never deserved that sacrifice. Or me. 

t took betrayal to see the truth. The anniversary. The lies. Candice. All of it. I had been a ›laceholder in a story that was never mine to begin with. 

And now… I was done playing that role. 

‘he apartment I moved into was small but bright. The heater barely worked, and the windows roze over at night. Still, it was mine. My space. No designer furniture, no staff hovering. Just me, ny suitcase, and a blank canvas. 

The first thing I did after unpacking was buy paint. 

: felt strange at first-holding a brush again. My fingers trembled. But as I dragged color across he canvas, something inside me unlocked. A pulse I hadn’t felt in years. I had buried this part of ne the day I became River’s wife. Now, it was clawing its way back to life. 

enrolled in my first class the next day. 

Your technique is raw,” my professor said after watching me work. “But your heart is in the right lace. I’m glad you came. You belong here.” 

or the first time in a long while, I believed it. 

But even thousands of miles away, River found a way to haunt me. 

The messages started coming the day I landed. 

Where are you?” 

Talk to me.” 

You’re blowing this out of proportion.” 

You cheated?” 

knew where it stemmed from. That last message I sent before I left-“Sorry, I can’t come to the birthday party. I’m going to have an affair.” 

It was supposed to say “artist’s affair.” A typo. One word deleted in haste. And now he thought I 

was with someone else. 

Good. Let him think I had someone new. Let it bruise his pride. If he could sleep beside Candice while I bled in silence, then he could suffer in his own assumptions. I owed him no explanation. 

I had already signed the divorce papers. Left the ring. Walked away. What more did he want? 

Charter a 

His calls kept coming. I didn’t block them-I wanted him to know I saw every single one. I wanted him to feel the sting of being ignored. Every unread message was a mirror of what I lived through for years. 

I didn’t reply. Instead, I smiled and turned my phone face-down. 

There were days when I felt light again. When I made friends in class. When I painted for hours and forgot his name. My professor praised my work. Said it bled emotion. Said I’d go far. 

And yet… not everything was perfect. 

The cold wore me down. I started getting sick-headaches, fevers, chills. I had no one to care for me, but I managed. I bought soup, made tea, stayed under heavy blankets. 

But one morning, the fever was too high. 

I bundled up and walked through snow-covered streets to the hospital, trying not to collapse with every step. My vision blurred. My chest felt tight. 

And then-I hit someone. 

Hard. 

Strong arms caught me as I stumbled. 

‘Allison?” the voice asked, surprised. 

blinked through the haze, heart racing. 

Joseph. 

Before I could say his name, my legs gave out. 

And the world went black. 

I was dreaming.