The elevator doors slid open, revealing a couple locked in a tense silence. Jack hesitated before stepping inside, nodding politely as he pressed the button for his penthouse.
The man beside him, stocky with a permanent scowl, barely acknowledged him. His wife—delicate, with haunted eyes—stood a step behind, clutching the strap of her handbag as if it were a lifeline.
The ride was suffocating, the air thick with unsaid words. Jack tried to ignore the sharp, passive-aggressive comments the man threw at her. Every word dripped with disdain.
“Don’t just stand there looking stupid. Fix your hair, for God’s sake.”
She didn’t respond. She never did. Jack clenched his fists but said nothing. It wasn’t his place.
Then the doors dinged, signaling the next stop.
“Out,” the husband barked, snapping his fingers. “Let’s go.”
She moved instantly, like a well-trained pet. But the moment he whistled at her—short, sharp, degrading—Jack’s restraint snapped.
Before she could step past him, Jack grabbed her wrist and slammed the ‘Close’ button.
“What the hell?” the husband snarled, pounding on the door as it sealed shut.
Jack exhaled. “You don’t deserve her.”
She stiffened beside him, eyes darting between Jack and the floor. She hadn’t expected anyone to stand up for her. Maybe she’d forgotten what it felt like.
Jack turned to her, voice gentler. “You don’t have to go back to him.”
Her breath hitched, and for the first time, her fingers curled around his in silent agreement.
Up in his penthouse, Jack poured two glasses of wine. Brittany sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting nervously.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
Jack sat across from her. “Then why are you?”
She looked up, startled. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally, she whispered, “Because I wanted… just a moment. Just one moment where I’m not his.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “He’s not going to change.”
She swallowed hard. “I know.”
“You deserve more.”
A bitter smile curled her lips. “Says the man who doesn’t even know me.”
Jack leaned in. “I don’t have to know you to see the bruises you hide.”
Her breath hitched, her hand instinctively covering her wrist. Silence stretched between them.
Jack set his glass down. “Stay. Just for tonight. See what it feels like to be treated like a person.”
She hesitated—but not for long.
The next morning, Brittany stood by the window, staring at the skyline. The city was vast. Freeing. Jack approached, coffee in hand.
“I have to go back,” she murmured. “He’ll be furious.”
Jack set the coffee down. “Or you could leave him.”
She let out a hollow laugh. “It’s not that simple.”
Jack reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. “It can be.”
She stared at it. “What’s this?”
“My spare. In case you ever need a way out.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she pressed a trembling kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Then she was gone.
That night, Jack heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find Brittany, suitcase in hand, breathless and wide-eyed.
“I took the key,” she said, voice shaking. “And I ran.”
Jack smiled softly, stepping aside to let her in. As she crossed the threshold, she let out a breath she’d been holding for years.
For the first time in forever, she was free.
_cleanup.jpg)
0 Comments