Page 103 of My Spanish Love Affair

“Of course you can, sweetheart. You don’t have to ask. What’s happened? Is everything okay?”

I squeeze my eyes to a close, my free hand gripping the edge of the bedside table as if it can steady me.

“I just need to get away. I’ll explain everything when I get there,but... I need to come home.”

“Alright,” she says gently. “You know there’s always a place for you here. Come home, Liv. We’ll figure it out together.”

Her words are like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge. “Thanks, Mum,” I whisper. “I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

She hesitates, her voice softening even further. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

I take a shaky breath. “I will be,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure it’s true.

As I hang up, I glance around my room, the familiar space suddenly feeling foreign. I grab a backpack from my wardrobe, my movements quick and mechanical as I start tossing clothes inside - jeans, cardigans, underwear… all the essentials for the cooler climate of England.

My hands shake as I zip it shut, the sound loud in the quiet room.

I glance at my phone again, at Santi’s name in my messages. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but no words come.

I can’t tell him. Not yet. I don’t even know what I’d say.

Instead, I send a short, vague message:

I can’t answer right now, Santi. I need some time and space. I’ll speak to you later, when I’ve got a clear head.

I quickly check online for flights and note that there are several options throughout the day. I don’t need to worry about choice - I’ve got plenty, and they’re all reasonably priced, too. Relieved, I turn my phone off before Santi can reply - not wanting to be pulled in by whatever he says in response - and throw it into my bag alongside my purse and passport.

It’s only when I’m standing at the front door of my apartment,my hand resting on the handle, that the reality of what I’m doing sinks in.

My students, my colleagues, will be much better off without the disruption I am unwittingly bringing to the school - for them, for me, I’m leaving. I don’t know when I’ll return.

I let out a shaky breath and step outside, the warm air kissing my skin like a gentle apology. I inhale deeply as I walk toward the train station, putting in my headphones and setting off at a reasonable pace.

I don’t hesitate, and I don’t look back.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The hum of the plane’s engines fills the cabin as I stare blankly out of the window, watching the clouds drift by.

It’s almost surreal, being here again.

Only this time, I’m leaving behind everything in Spain as opposed to England.

The life I’ve tried so hard to build, the life that now feels like it’s crumbling under the weight of expectations I never asked for.

My bag is tucked under the seat in front of me, stuffed with hastily packed clothes, toiletries, and my journal. I didn’t even think about what I threw in, really - I just grabbed the essentials, desperate to escape after calling in sick to work.

I tap my fingers against the armrest, unable to shake the tension coiled in my chest. The flight attendants move up and down the aisle, offering drinks and snacks to the half-filled plane, but I wave them off.

I’m far too wound up to eat or drink.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat, willing the tears to stay at bay. Thankfully, there’s an empty seat next to me, and the man sitting on the end of the row doesn’t so much as look up from his book in my direction, thankfully oblivious to the emotional storm brewing beside him.

The flight feels both too short and too long, the hours dragging and rushing by all at once. When the captain announces our descent into Manchester, my chest tightens, the reality of what I’m doing sinking in.

∞∞∞

The plane touches down smoothly, and I force myself to take slow, steady breaths as I gather my things and follow the line of passengers off the aircraft. The terminal is bustling with activity, and I clutch my bag tightly, weaving through the crowd through the baggage claim.

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