After the Wind: My Goodbye

Matthew's favorite phrase was just wait a little longer.

Wait until his startup stabilized to get our marriage license; I waited two years.

Wait until his mother's attitude softened to have the wedding; I waited another three.

In the fifth year, at Matthew's thirtieth birthday dinner, his mother publicly slipped off the antique emerald bracelet from her wrist.

Passing down the family bracelet to acknowledge the daughter-in-law was an old tradition in the Brandt family.

I thought, finally, the waiting was over.

"Here, give me your hand."

But Matthew's mother bypassed my outstretched hand, sliding the heavy emerald piece firmly onto Mary's wrist instead.

The entire table went dead silent.

Mrs. Brandt patted the back of Mary's hand with a fond smile. "Mary grew up with our Matthew. We are all one family anyway."

My hands were still resting on the tablecloth, my fingertips turning icy.

Someone at the table whispered, "But what about Nora?"

Matthew leaned in close, lowering his voice. "My mother is sentimental, Norie. Don't take it to heart."

"I'll buy you a haute couture necklace on my business trip next month. Be good, just wait a little longer."

Mary held up her wrist right in front of my face, a smug smirk playing on her lips. "Be honest, Norie, isn't it beautiful? Mrs. Brandt said this is a priceless family heirloom."

I said it was beautiful.

Right then, my phone buzzed in my purse.

"Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Paris?"

"Why are you so quiet?"

On the drive back, Matthew held the steering wheel with one hand, casting a quick glance at me.

The streetlights cast flickering shadows across his handsome profile.

I pulled my gaze back from the window, staring down at my bare wrist.

"Nothing to say," I murmured.

Matthew sighed, braking at a red light.

He reached over the console with his right hand, instinctively trying to squeeze the back of my neck.

I tilted my head slightly, dodging his touch.

His hand froze in midair for a second.

Then he smoothly pulled it back, resting it on the steering wheel.

"Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over that bracelet?"

His tone carried that familiar, weary indulgence used for a spoiled child.

"You know how my mother is. She's old-fashioned."

"Mary lost her parents when she was young and grew up in our house. My mother has always felt she owes her."

"It is just an emerald bracelet. If she wants to give it away, so be it. Was it really worth making a face at dinner?"

Making a face?

I had not said a single word. I had simply eaten my dinner in silence.

But to him, my refusal to smile and play along with Mary's boasting made me difficult.

"Matthew," I said, my voice flat.

"Yeah?"

"You told me five years ago that the bracelet would be mine."

The car went dead silent.

A horn blared behind us; the light had turned green.

Matthew hit the gas, and the car glided forward smoothly.

"We were just starting the business back then. I didn't have the money to buy you anything nice. It was just sweet talk to make you happy, and you've held onto it until now?"

He let out a dry laugh, his tone casual and dismissive.

"Do you really think the Brandt family can't afford a better bracelet now?"

"I'm going to Europe next month on business. I'll bring you back a couture diamond necklace. It'll look a hundred times better than that dusty old emerald."

"Be good, Norie. Stop sweating the small stuff."

He was always like this.

Using the gentlest voice to effortlessly erase every hope I had for our future.

Five years ago, Matthew bought me a cheap thirty-dollar silver band at a night market stall.

With bloodshot eyes, he had slipped it onto my finger.

"Norie, once I make it big, I'll have my mom personally put our family's heirloom emerald bracelet on you."

"I'm going to make you Mrs. Brandt, with all the bells and whistles."

I was still wearing that cheap silver band on my left hand.

It had already tarnished to a dull, dark gray.

The car rolled into our apartment complex's underground garage.

Matthew unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at me.

"Tomorrow is the weekend. Where do you want to go? I'm all yours."

In the past, I would have happily researched itineraries, filling the day with plans.

But now, I only felt an exhausting emptiness.

"Don't worry about it," I said, pushing the door open. "I need to clean up the apartment tomorrow."

Matthew got out, locked the car, and caught up to me in a few quick strides.

He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Are you really mad at me?"

His breath brushed against my ear, carrying the faint, rich scent of red wine.

"Mary was so excited about the bracelet she couldn't sleep. She wants me to take her to get a custom vintage dress tailored tomorrow to match it."

"You know she has terrible taste and has relied on me since we were kids."

"I'll go with her in the morning, and I'll be back to spend the afternoon with you, okay?"

"Okay," I said softly.

Matthew smiled with satisfaction, planting a quick kiss on my cheek.

"I knew my Norie was the sweetest."

When we got inside, Matthew headed straight for the bathroom.

I walked to the entryway, hanging my bag on the coat rack.

Unzipping it, I looked at the document lying quietly inside.

An acceptance letter for an advanced study program at the National School of Fine Arts in Paris.

At the very bottom was my signature, penned just this afternoon.

I pulled it out and slipped it into the hidden compartment of my half-packed suitcase.

The sound of rushing water echoed from the bathroom.

I walked out to the balcony and texted my mentor in Paris.

Hey, I've booked my flight for early Monday morning.

She replied instantly: Finally came to your senses? Good for you! Forget that five-year waste of time. Get your ass to Paris. I'll show you what real European gentlemen look like!

I stared at the screen, a quiet, faint smile touching my lips.

The next morning.

I was woken up by Matthew's hushed, murmuring voice.

He was standing on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear.

"You chipped it? Is it bad?"

"It's fine if the bracelet is chipped, as long as you aren't hurt."

"Don't cry, it's just a bracelet. I'm coming over right now to check on you."

His voice carried an unmasked, raw panic and tenderness.

I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Five minutes later, he pushed the bedroom door open.

Seeing my eyes open, he startled slightly before quickly walking over.

"Did I wake you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke my face.

I turned my head away and sat up.

"Going out?" I asked.

Matthew's hand froze, and he awkwardly pulled it back.

"Mary tried on the bracelet first thing this morning and accidentally banged it against the bathroom sink. She's terrified and won't stop crying."

"I need to go check on her. She lives alone, and I'm worried."

As he spoke, he swiftly shed his loungewear and threw on a crisp button-down.

"Don't wait up for breakfast. Make yourself something."

I watched him expertly knot his tie.

"Matthew."

"Yeah?" He didn't even turn around, adjusting his collar in the mirror.

"I wanted to go look at the Southside townhouse today."

His hands paused on his collar.

The Southside townhouse was a place we had picked out six months ago.

He had called it our future home, promising we would put down the deposit right after his thirtieth birthday.

Matthew turned around, a flicker of guilt crossing his face.

"We don't have to look at houses today of all days."

"Mary is completely hysterical right now. I need to calm her down first."

"Once this crazy week is over, I'll take you to look at an even better neighborhood. Southside is a bit out of the way anyway."

I looked at him, my expression entirely serene.

"Okay."

Matthew let out a visible sigh of relief.

He walked over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

"Good girl. Wait for me to come back."

The door clicked shut.

Silence swallowed the apartment once more.

I got up and walked into the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, I saw it was packed with groceries.

I pulled out two eggs and a carton of milk.

As I fried the eggs, memories flooded my mind, completely unbidden.

Back when we lived in that cramped, drafty rental.

Matthew used to wake up thirty minutes before me every single morning to whip up creative breakfasts.

Once, I offhandedly mentioned wanting those hot glazed donuts from the Westside bakery.

He braved a torrential downpour, riding a rusty bicycle for half an hour just to get them for me.

When he returned, the donuts were still warm, but he was soaked to the bone.

"If my Norie wants something, I'll get it even if it's raining knives outside," he had said, grinning through the drips.

And now?

Even taking a single hour to look at the house he promised me was too much of a chore.

I slid the fried eggs onto a plate.

As I poured the milk, my hand slipped, spilling it across the counter.

Reaching for a rag, I accidentally knocked over a jar next to it.

It was a jar of oyster sauce.

The dark, thick liquid pooled onto the counter, releasing a heavy, briny scent.

Staring at the mess, my stomach violently churned.

I am severely allergic to seafood.

Matthew had bought that jar two days ago.

Because Mary had mentioned she was craving seafood noodles.

Matthew had completely forgotten that even the smell of seafood could break me out in hives.

I tossed the rag into the trash can, along with the plate of eggs and the jar of oyster sauce.

Then, I walked back into the bedroom, dragged three large cardboard boxes from under the bed, and began packing.

I didn't actually own much.

A few everyday clothes, some textbooks, my laptop.

The rest were things Matthew had bought me.

Expensive designer bags and jewelry that never fit my style.

He had always dressed me according to Mary's tastes.

"Mary looks stunning in pink. You should try it."

"Mary says this perfume smells incredible, so I got you a bottle too."

I gathered all of those items and stacked them neatly at the very bottom of the walk-in closet.

At three in the afternoon, Matthew returned.

He pushed the door open and froze at the sight of the three boxes stacked in the living room.

"What are you doing?"

He strode over, his brow knitting tight.

"Packing away winter clothes?"

I sealed the last box with heavy-duty tape.

"Getting rid of old things."

Matthew's gaze fell on an unsealed box.

Inside were our matching college mugs and a stuffed animal he had won for me.

His face darkened instantly.

"Nora, are you seriously still doing this?"

He yanked the mug out, slamming it onto the coffee table.

"You've been throwing a tantrum since last night over a stupid bracelet!"

"Now you're throwing this stuff out? What's next? Are you going to tell me you're moving out?"

I stood up straight, looking at him calmly.

"Yes."

Matthew let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh.

"Unbelievable. You've really grown a spine, haven't you?"

He loosened his tie, sinking onto the sofa, glaring up at me.

"And where do you think you're going? To your friend Hazel's place? Or back to that freezing hometown of yours?"

"Nora, you are twenty-seven years old. Can you stop acting like a dramatic teenager playing the run-away-from-home card?"

"Do you honestly think if you disappear for a few days, I'll come crawling back begging you to return?"

He was entirely convinced I could never leave him.

He believed this was just a pathetic, desperate attempt to force his hand.

I didn't bother explaining.

I simply placed the mug back into the box and taped it shut.

"Think whatever you want."

Watching my quiet movements, a flicker of irritation crossed Matthew's eyes.

He stood up, walked over to me, and softened his tone.

"Alright, enough. Stop playing around."

"Tomorrow is our fifth anniversary."

"I booked a table at that Michelin-starred restaurant you love. After dinner, we'll go pick out a diamond ring."

"As for the Southside place, I'll have my assistant send over the deposit tomorrow. We'll put it under your name."

"Does that make you happy?"

He spoke as if he were granting me the ultimate mercy, throwing me a bone.

I looked at his face, once so familiar, now so utterly foreign, and smiled.

"Okay."

I nodded.

"See you tomorrow."

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, ruffling my hair gently.

"There's my good girl."

He had no idea that nestled inside my suitcase was a plane ticket for tomorrow.

Exactly fourteen hours until takeoff.

Matthew left for the office early the next morning, kissing my forehead before he walked out.

"I'll pick you up at six tonight."

"Wear that pink dress. You look beautiful in it."

The moment the front door clicked shut, I turned and walked into the closet.

The pink dress hung in the most prominent spot.

It was the exact same design Mary had.

I didn't touch it.

Instead, I put on a simple white shirt and washed-out blue jeans.

It was the outfit I wore most often when I first met Matthew.

I pushed the three sealed cardboard boxes out to the hallway and scheduled a local courier to pick them up.

I sent them to a friend who ran a secondhand consignment shop.

"Norie, these are practically brand new. Are you sure you don't want them?" my friend asked over the phone.

"I'm sure. Sell them or do whatever you want with them."

Hanging up, I took one last look around the apartment.

This twelve-hundred-square-foot space had once been filled to the brim with my personal touches.

The throw pillows on the couch were hand-embroidered by me.

The succulents on the balcony had been nurtured by my hands, one by one.

The ceramic mugs in the kitchen were hand-painted treasures I brought back from a workshop in Vermont.

Now, they were all still in their places.

But any trace of me, any proof of my existence, had been completely erased.

It was as if I had never lived here at all.

My phone vibrated.

It was a text from Matthew.

Norie, I'm so sorry, but we might have to cancel dinner tonight.

Mary was clipped by a delivery bike right outside the office. Her ankle is badly swollen.

I have to take her to the hospital for X-rays.

We can look at rings in a couple of days, okay?

I stared at the text on the screen and didn't reply.

A moment later, another message popped up.

Are you mad? Don't be. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.

Make it up to me.

Always making it up to me.

I set my phone to silent, tossed it onto the sofa, and went to the kitchen to boil a simple bowl of plain noodles.

This would be my last meal in this country.

Just as the noodles were done, the front door lock clicked.

Matthew rushed in, looking frantic.

Seeing me standing in the kitchen with a bowl of noodles, he stopped dead in his tracks.

I placed the bowl on the dining table and pulled out a chair.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital with Mary?"

Matthew walked over, pouring himself a glass of water.

"Mary said she was craving those crab dumplings from the West End diner. I just came back to grab my car keys to pick some up for her."

The West End.

The very place he had braved a storm to buy me pastries years ago.

Now, he was willing to cross the entire city just to satisfy Mary's craving.

"Nora, are you seriously throwing another silent tantrum?"

Seeing my silence, his brows knit together again.

"I already told you, Mary is hurt. I can't just leave her stranded, can I?"

"Can't you show a little understanding for once?"

I lifted a forkful of noodles and took a bite.

Bland. Completely tasteless.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said quietly.

"Go buy her food. Don't keep her waiting."

Matthew shot me a suspicious look.

My unusual calm seemed to catch him off guard.

But he was in too much of a hurry to think deeper.

"I'm heading out then. I might not come back tonight. Mary is terrified of being alone, so I'll probably stay with her at the hospital."

"Get some sleep early."

He grabbed his keys and turned to leave.

At the doorway, he suddenly froze, glancing at the empty shoe rack in the entryway.

"Where are all your shoes?"

I swallowed my noodles, never looking up.

"They were old. I threw them out."

Matthew didn't ask further. The door slammed shut behind him.

I slowly finished my bowl of noodles.

I washed the bowl and placed it upside down on the drying rack.

Then, I slung my backpack over my shoulders and rolled my small, twenty-inch black suitcase out of the apartment.

I didn't look back.

On the shuttle bus to the airport, I leaned against the window.

I watched the neon-lit city where I had spent seven years of my life blur into a streak of fading lights.

My phone lit up.

It was a screenshot from Hazel.

Mary's social media post.

The picture showed a box of steaming hot crab dumplings.

The background was the white sheet of a hospital bed.

A man's hand, fingers elegant and long, held a pair of chopsticks, carefully feeding her.

On his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch.

I had saved up for six months to buy him that watch for his birthday last year.

The caption read: My ankle hurts like hell, but having someone cross the entire city just to get my favorite food makes even a sprain feel like heaven.

Below it was a comment from Matthew: Eat slowly. No one is going to steal it from you.

Hazel's angry text followed immediately.

Nora! Tell me you aren't sitting at home alone on your fifth anniversary!

Matthew is an absolute bastard! Does he even view you as his girlfriend?!

Staring at the string of furious emojis from Hazel, my fingers tapped lightly on the screen.

Hazel, I'm leaving.

I'm going to Paris.

A long silence followed.

Then, a voice note came through.

Hazel's voice was thick with tears.

"Good for you, Norie. Go. And never look back."

I closed the app.

I popped the SIM card out of my phone and dropped it through the cracked bus window, letting the howling wind sweep it away.