Page 81 of Broken Bonds

“Listen,” she says when she’s parked at the curb, in front of the entrance’s glass doors. “Your flight leaves in just over an hour, you will have to go through security quickly. As soon as you enter, use this number.” With that said, she hands me a piece of paper on which she has scribbled something. “You can print the boarding pass on one of the machines. I have bought two tickets, the first in your name, a flight to Puerto Rico, which connects in Miami. That is going to buy you some time. The other, a flight to Louisville in the name of Carolina Lafayette. Once you pass the security control, nobody will ask for identification. Use the ticket in your name to get through security, the other to get on the plane.”

Well, Mrs. Kral has a brilliant mind. I would have never thought of this. She puts something between my trembling hands. I realize it’s a few hundred dollar bills.

“I hope I never have to see you again,” she says, and I want to answer that the feeling is mutual, but I keep those words on the tip of my tongue.

“I don’t need your money, ma’am.” I try to return it to her, but she pulls her hands away quickly, like it was burning coal. Well, I don’t want it either, so I toss the money into the front seat.

“You can’t blame me,” she adds, glancing at the windshield, adjusting her lustrous blonde hair behind her ear. “I only want what’s best for my son.”

That earns an agreement, it’s something I understand and can respect. If I were in her shoes, maybe I would do the same.

Without saying another word I get out of the car, and hear her leave at full speed, so much so that the tires make that annoying little sound. I don’t have time to waste, so I head to the machines, which don’t give me much of a problem. Passing security is another story, because the line is long and when I finally get to where the first officer is, he looks at me with suspicion.

I cry again when I hear him call me by the name that is supposed to be mine. Stella Kral. It all sounds so false.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I don’t have any luggage. In my hand, only my small purse in which I carry my driver’s license and the little money I had left after my day of shopping, so I don’t waste much time going through the full body scanner, however, to get to the door indicated by the ticket, I need to run. I’m almost the last to board. I barely reached my seat when the flight attendant announces through the airplane sound system that the door has been closed.

I let out a sigh of pure relief, I’m going to be free.

I’m on my way to find myself.

For better or worse.

???

It’s six in the morning local time when we finally land in Louisville. The sun has risen and I’m grateful that I was able to escape. My neck hurts, but nothing compares to the dull pain in my chest. Although I’ve slept on the flight—a miracle, really—I feel exhausted. I can’t wait to be home, let my hair down and have a good bath.

Down my cheeks are the traces of mascara that the makeup artist carefully applied yesterday, even though I’ve tried to clean myself with the napkins that the stewardess discreetly put in my hands.

I raise my hand to call for a taxi. I know this will be expensive, but there is no way to contact anyone to come and pick me up. And the truth is, the last thing I want right now is to face questions from Valerie or my mother. First, I have to solve the puzzle that my life has become, and I need to do that by myself.

Without interference or interruptions.

The taxi driver warns me that it’s going to be more than a hundred dollars to take me home. To calm his nerves I hand him a couple of crumpled Ethans and we are on our way.

With each mile that we continue advancing, the current calms down, like an avalanche waiting to break loose, in silence, but it is still there, waiting for the moment when a small stimulus will destroy everything. I look absentmindedly at the trees, the same road I’ve traveled hundreds of times, everything seems the same. But inside a lot has changed.

My world has changed, completely and forever. And not only did I not notice, but I left the doors to my heart wide open before the storm arrived.

The town is peaceful when I get there, so different from the hectic pulse of Los Angeles. Here everything feels slow and calm. Here I feel like I can breathe again. It’s Sunday, so until it’s time for church, Carrollton will be asleep.

I enter the house using the key that I always have hidden under the flowerpot in the corner of the small porch. I almost screamed with relief to find it. Only Valerie knows that it’s there and I’m lucky that she didn’t move it.

Upon entering the living room, my eyes immediately go to our wedding photo next to the television in the wooden frame that we bought after the ceremony. How many lies can I find in a single image? I go to where it is and throw it against the wall with the little force I have. The glass shatters immediately.

Perfect, now my heart and memories are on par.

The pain is so much that I can feel it all over my body, disabling myself, breaking my bones, tearing my skin.

In the end, I decide that I’m not going to gain anything by staying here wallowing in my misery, I have to do something to defend myself. I’m not going to spend my days rotting in a cell for something I didn’t do. I take a notepad and pen from the drawer. I need to write down some things. And I need something to help me loosen the ball of nerves, to alleviate the pain of the razors that are slicing me up inside.

Wine. That’s it. Somewhere it’s already five in the afternoon, right?

I open a bottle of red and without bothering to find a glass, I take a long drink. It kicks me in the stomach. I embrace the discomfort, and at least it distracts me from the other pain.

I sit down on the sofa and put my feet up on the coffee table. Angrily, I wipe my tears as I begin to write down what has happened in the past few months. Things I’m sure can be easily checked. In another column, those I have questions about, and in the last column, the ones that are a total lie.

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