Chapter 6: Breaking Free at Last

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5

That evening, when Derek returned, he brought his mother with him.

Her arrival was a tornado—bags thumping on the floor, her voice echoing off the narrow hallway. It was just like her to turn up early, disrupting whatever plans I might have had.

In my previous life, he brought his mother over the next day. So when I saw her today, I was a bit surprised.

My hands froze over the dishwater. I dried them on a towel, mentally bracing myself for the onslaught.

"What, what's with that look? Am I not welcome?" she snapped.

Her voice had the edge of someone used to getting her way—a tone that could slice bread. She planted herself in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning for dust like a drill sergeant.

Derek grew up in a single-parent household. His mother raised him alone—it wasn't easy. He was extremely devoted, and she was very domineering.

She’d survived two jobs, three layoffs, and the scorn of neighbors who whispered about her being “that single lady on Maple Street.” In our house, her word was law.

In my previous life, I understood how hard it had been for her, so I went along with her in everything. But even after serving her for over ten years, until her death, she was always extremely critical of me.

I learned every one of her little rituals—how to cut the crusts off her sandwiches, the exact way to fold her sweaters. None of it ever made a difference.

Now that I had been reborn, I certainly wouldn't indulge her anymore.

I stood a little taller, letting the silence hang between us, refusing to apologize for once.

"Derek didn't say you were coming today, so the room isn't tidied up. You'll have to wait."

My tone was flat, the words clipped. I watched her eyebrows shoot up, caught off guard by my new backbone.

Derek was surprised to hear me call him by his full name. His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. I used to call him Dee. He thought I was unhappy because he suddenly brought his mother over, so he hurried to explain.

He shuffled his feet, running a hand through his hair, the way he did when he was nervous. “Uh, I just happened to go get some documents today, and a friend had a car, so I brought my mother over first. Anyway, it's the same whether I bring her today or tomorrow.”

His mother saw her son trying to please me, even explaining himself about bringing her over, and her face darkened.

She was used to having the final say, and now her own son was playing peacemaker between us.

Derek noticed and quickly said,

"Let's let my mom have our room. We'll sleep in the other one."

He was trying to avoid a fight, but I could see the discomfort etched on his face.

I didn't care. I was leaving tomorrow anyway; it didn't matter where his mother slept.

I shrugged, feigning indifference, my mind already on tomorrow’s train ride.

His mother moved into our room, and only then did her expression improve slightly.

She carried her overnight bag with a huff, clearly satisfied at reclaiming her territory.

But she still didn't stop. She asked me to serve tea, pour water, and even wash her feet. I just kept tidying up the other room and pretended not to hear.

I hummed to myself, pretending to be too busy with the laundry. Her demands bounced off me like rain on a tin roof.

Seeing my stony face, Derek did everything himself.

He ran back and forth, balancing a tray of cookies and two mugs of tea. I almost felt sorry for him—almost.

When I finally finished sorting things and lay down, he flopped onto the bed, sighing that he was exhausted.

He looked older in the lamplight, shadows under his eyes, as if years of trying to please everyone had finally caught up to him.

"Nat, my mother is particular. You need to be more attentive in the future, okay? Don't let her feel uncomfortable living here."

Heh.

I replied indifferently.

I rolled away from him, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, determined not to be guilt-tripped.

As soon as I lay down, Derek moved closer. I shifted away in annoyance. "Your mother is next door."

He pressed close, his breath warm on my neck, his hand slipping under my shirt. "She won't hear."

His tone was teasing, but I felt nothing but exhaustion. I clenched my jaw, staring out into the dark.

But just as he finished speaking, his mother called out, "Natalie, come help me to the bathroom!"

I closed my eyes, mocking myself.

Of course. Right on cue. I almost laughed—if it wasn’t so sad, it’d be funny.

Derek got up, resigned.

I listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, followed by the creak of the bathroom door.

"Where's your wife? Why is it you again?" his mother complained.

Her voice carried, sharp as ever. Derek mumbled something back, but I tuned it out.

"Go to sleep, Mom can manage on her own. You have to meet your friends tomorrow, and the day after that you're leaving for the Midwest. Don't tire yourself out."

He sounded like a kid again, placating and weary.

Then I heard a lot of banging and clattering—clearly, his mother was making noise on purpose to show her displeasure.

The sounds of drawers slamming, the scrape of her slippers on the tile. I pulled the pillow over my head, determined to ignore it all.

I tuned out her complaints and soon fell asleep.

Somehow, in the muffled dark, sleep finally claimed me.

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6

The next day, I woke up at six.

The sun hadn’t even touched the horizon. I moved quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. The house felt chilly, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and reminds you you’re still alive.

Hearing me get up, Derek thought I was going out to buy groceries. "Mom likes pork chops. See if you can get some."

His voice drifted down the hall, half-asleep, taking for granted that I’d fall back into the same old routine.

I didn't even look back.

I zipped my suitcase, grabbed my purse, and checked my ticket one last time. I felt lighter already.

After washing up, I took my already packed suitcase and caught a ride to the train station.

The taxi driver was a friendly older woman named Denise, who chatted about her grandkids the whole way. Her laughter filled the car, making the morning seem a little less bleak.

When I arrived, I realized how hungry I was, so I quickly bought a couple of bagels and a coffee from a stand outside.

The steam from the coffee warmed my hands as I watched the station bustle with travelers—businessmen in suits, families wrangling toddlers, students with duffel bags like mine.

Originally, I had planned to make some sandwiches at home yesterday to take on the journey, but with Derek's mother coming over, I gave up to avoid trouble.

I thought about it as I chewed my bagel—how sometimes you have to let go of plans, but not your dreams.

After a four-day train ride, I was exhausted when I finally arrived at the college.

The ticket booth smelled of popcorn and diesel fuel, and a payphone rang shrilly somewhere behind me. The landscape changed from rolling farmland to city blocks, then finally to the stately brick buildings of Great Lakes Institute. The air was crisp, the campus alive with the buzz of new beginnings.

After finishing all the registration procedures, I went straight to the dorm and slept like the dead.

My new room smelled of lemon cleaner and fresh paint. I collapsed on the narrow bed, pulling the wool blanket up to my chin. Sleep came before I could even finish unpacking.

I was woken up by a few of my roommates. Like me, they had come from all over the country. After everyone had rested, we decided to go to the cafeteria together.

Melissa’s Southern twang filled the room, Jamie rolled her eyes at the spaghetti, and Carla’s bracelets jingled with every gesture. We laughed over watery spaghetti and swapped stories until the sky outside turned indigo.

On the official first day of classes, I thought I wouldn't see Derek—after all, his mother still needed someone to look after her.

I figured he’d be tied up with family, too busy to bother me on my first day of real freedom.

But suddenly, I saw him push open the door and stride toward me, his expression fierce.

My breath caught. Was he here to bring me home—or to finally let me go?