When Arabella first came to Houston, she had no idea what to anticipate. Though distant from the life she had left behind, that was precisely what she required: space. Distance away from Grant. Out of the suffering. From the burden of a contract marriage, she had never really consented to in her heart.
The cab ride from the airport had been a blur, the city's bustling streets pouring past her, full of strangers and new faces. Keeping her head down, she avoided eye contact with anyone. Her thoughts were in disarray.
All she wanted was to disappear, to be only another faceless person in a city too busy to notice. Houston was a long way from the opulence and crushing demands of her history.
Tucked away in an inconspicuous building off the usual path, the flat she rented was modest, nearly too small, but it was hers. She could breathe for the first time in years.
Standing before the apartment block, Arabella gazed at the crumbling brick front. From her pocket, she took the keys and opened the door. Sparsely furnished, the flat had bare walls, a secondhand couch she had discovered at a garage sale, and a little kitchen table.
Though it was hers, it was a long way from the luxury she had formerly been used to. There was no noise. This marked a fresh start.
For the first time since Grant had died, she didn't have to worry about being watched, scrutinized, or controlled. Here, she could be free of anyone directing her actions or emotions. Here, she could be anybody she desired.
Still, Arabella could never really forget him despite the calm and quiet.
Vivienne, her closest friend, had followed her to Houston not long after the relocation, which did not improve matters.
Even if it meant abandoning all she knew back home, she had pushed to assist Arabella during her pregnancy.
She resolved to be by Arabella's side as she understood the toll the loss had caused on her: the emotional grief, the guilt hanging like a dark cloud.
Vivienne told her one afternoon from Arabella's small kitchen over tea, "I'm not going anywhere, you know." Vivienne's wide, lively eyes met hers. "You are not by yourself in this."
Arabella's eyes dropped to the boiling cup before her; she did not answer immediately. The loss of Grant, the shame of their marriage, and the impending duty of raising a child she wasn't sure how to tell the world all made her feel the burden of everything: a child who would never know his father.
Arabella said softly, her voice heavy with feeling, "It's just difficult. I believed I was acting in Isla's, the family's best interests. But now I have no idea what I'm doing. Vivienne, I'm a disaster. I have never been more lost."
Vivienne set her cup down softly and extended her hand to grab Arabella's.
A lifeline in the chaos of uncertainty, her touch was warm and constant.
"Arabella, you are not a mess. You have suffered more than most. Yet you are stronger than you think. Now you have me. Every step of the way, I'll be here."
Arabella looked into her eyes, probing them for the comfort she urgently sought. Vivienne was correct. In this strange, new world, she had a friend.
She had someone to support her on the days when the burden of the past tried to crush her, someone who would not judge her.
Arabella agreed, even if the guilt eating at her insides still lingered. She had worked so hard to forget Grant and the life they had shared, to bury the suffering of the past. The past never stayed buried, though, no matter how hard she concentrated on the now.
"Thank you," Arabella said, her voice hoarse. "Without you, I don't know what I would do."
Vivienne smiled gently. "You will never have to know."
Days ran together. Arabella toiled at a nearby photography studio for long hours. Though not particularly exciting, the work kept her occupied enough. Part of her wished that employment would dull the memories, but it never did. The memories of Grant haunted her constantly.
Daily, she battled the unrelenting pain in her chest. Every night, she lay down to sleep in the quiet of the vacant flat, the area next to her bed chilly and unspoiled.
The reality of her pregnancy started to sink in three months into her new life in Houston. She had not wanted to confront it. She had tried to bury it, to set the thought aside until she could no longer hide from it.
But she could no longer ignore it as her body transformed and the indicators of life within her became more apparent.
She was carrying Grant's child.
She was doing it by herself.
It was a sobering reality, one Vivienne tried to assist her in negotiating, but no matter how much her friend comforted her, Arabella couldn't shake the burden of the decisions she had taken, the contract she had signed, and the man she had lost.
Every waking hour, she was tortured by recollections of Grant: his steel-blue eyes, the way his voice had softened in private moments, the heat of his touch.
Three years down the line, on a typical morning, the quiet broke.
Sipping her coffee, Arabella gazed out of the window of her flat at the early bustle of the city below. The world outside was going on; for a brief while,
she felt strange calm. Here, she was unknown, inconsequential, an outsider. The idea nearly caused her to grin.
But then she spotted him.
A big man. Wide-shouldered. Walking deliberately down the street wearing a dark jacket and sunglasses. His confident movement drew her attention.
No. It couldn't be him. Not at this time.
Turning away from the window, she tried to tell herself it was only a trick of the light, her heart racing in her chest. Not again; she could not afford to lose herself in this. But his presence, something all too familiar, made her uneasy.
Arabella was not hesitant. Grabbing her handbag, she dashed out of the flat, the building door pushed open, heart racing more with every step.
The man had gone by the time she got to the street corner, but she caught a glimpse of him: a tall, broad figure entering the school just a few blocks down.
Her head whirled, uncertainty taking hold. Her feet moved before she could halt them. Walking quickly across the street, she attempted to catch up and understand the mounting dread.
Arabella felt her throat constrict. She had to know who he was indeed.
Then her breath caught in her throat.
The man was waiting there, standing in front of the school gates, and in his arms was a little boy.
Arabella's eyes grew wide, and she stopped moving. The child gazed up at the man with a broad, naive smile, a smile that resembled so much of her son's.
The man turned his head just enough for her to see the slightest indication of familiarity.
It was him, Grant.