“It’s done,” my mother’s voice came through, crisp and efficient. “The immigration papers are processed. Your visa is approved. I pulled every string I had, Karylle. You have a flight booked to Zurich in three days.”
My heart skipped a beat. Three days.
“Zurich?” I breathed.
“It’s quiet. It’s far. And we have a chalet there no one knows about,” she said. “Are you sure about this? Once you leave, there’s no turning back.”
“I just want out. Thank you, Mother. I will leave as soon as possible.”
The door handle turned.
I froze, hanging up the phone.
“Who was that?” Nathan asked, setting the tray down on the bedside table. His voice was casual, but his eyes were alert. “And what did you mean, ‘I will leave’?”
He walked over to me, his expression darkening. “Are you leaving me, Karylle? Is that what this is? You’re planning something behind my back? Didn’t I say no divorce again? We’re—”
“No, silly,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I was talking to… a travel agent.”
“A travel agent?” He looked skeptical.
“Yes. I was thinking… after everything that’s happened… maybe we need a break. A vacation. Just the two of us. Like you said last night.” I squeezed his hand. “I was thinking we could go away. Somewhere romantic. Maybe Paris? Or Italy?”
The tension drained from his face instantly. A wide smile spread across his lips.
“Oh,” he exhaled, laughing a little. “Oh, thank God. You scared me for a second. I thought… never mind.” He kissed my knuckles. “That’s a wonderful idea, baby. Go on. Let’s leave whenever you want. Book it. Anywhere you want to go. I’ll clear my schedule.”
“Really?” I asked, widening my eyes.
“Really,” he promised. “Anything for you.”
For the next two days, I played the part of the recovering, hopeful wife perfectly. I talked about Italy. I looked at hotels with him. I let him hold my hand.
On the second night—my last night before the flight—Nathan surprised me.
“Get dressed,” he said, coming into the room with a velvet box in his hand. Inside was a diamond necklace. “I got us tickets to The Phantom of the Opera. I know it’s your favorite.”
I stared at the necklace. It was beautiful. Expensive. And it felt like a shackle.
“Thank you,” I said, letting him clasp it around my neck.