Chapter 2: "You're Running From Something"

Emma's POV

My hands are gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles have gone white. The highway stretches ahead, endless and dark. Trees blur past the windows.

Distance. That's all I need. Every mile makes it easier to breathe.

In my past life, I never left Boston. Not once in three years. I was trapped in that manor, pretty and useless. This time, I'm getting as far away as I can.

Six hours pass. The signs change from Massachusetts to New Hampshire. My legs are stiff, my back aching. When I spot a gas station glowing in the darkness, I pull off.

The cold air hits me when I step out. My whole body feels like stone. I lean against the car, force myself to move. The pump beeps as I fill the tank. Through the windows of the 24-hour store, I can see a TV on the wall.

I need coffee. Something to keep me going.

The bell chimes when I push through the door. Fluorescent lights make me squint. A clerk is restocking shelves. I head for the coffee station, pour a cup that's probably been sitting there for hours.

Then I hear it.

"Blackwood Heir Humiliated at Charity Gala. Wife Throws Ring, Storms Out."

My head snaps up. The TV screen shows last night. Red wine spreading across Nathaniel's shirt. The ring tumbling into the champagne tower. Glass exploding. Me, walking away.

The clerk is staring at the screen now, shaking his head. "Rich people drama. Can you believe that? Million-dollar ring just thrown away like garbage."

I stand frozen, coffee in hand. My fingers are trembling but I can't look away. The footage loops. Wine. Ring. My face, calm and cold. Nathaniel's rage.

Then I smile.

Good. Let them talk. Let Nathaniel deal with the mess. Let him explain to his precious investors why Mrs. Blackwood walked out on TV.

I pay for the coffee and grab a folded map. Maine. The clerk barely looks at me as I spread it on the counter. My finger traces the coastline, moving north.

Port Haven. A dot on the edge. Twelve hours from Boston.

Perfect.

I circle it with a pen and walk back to my car.

The hours blur. The highway becomes smaller roads. The sky lightens from black to gray to pale gold. When the sun finally breaks, I'm crossing into Maine.

By the time I reach Port Haven, it's almost dusk. My eyes are burning, my body screaming for rest. But when I drive down the main street, something in my chest loosens.

One street. Victorian buildings line both sides, painted facades faded but charming. A grocery store, hardware shop, clinic, tiny library. Everything you need, all in one place.

Seagulls wheel overhead. The air smells like salt and pine. A few people walk along in jeans and sweaters, moving slow.

No luxury cars. No suits. No fake smiles.

I park in front of a building with a sign reading "Ocean View Realty." A woman steps out before I've even cut the engine. She's older, white hair pulled back, wearing a worn cardigan. Kind face.

She looks at my car, then at me. "You lost, honey? We don't get many cars like this around here. Even if it is old."

I open the door and step out. Every muscle protests. "Actually, I'm looking for a place to rent. Something quiet."

Her eyes sweep over me. The expensive black dress from yesterday. The exhaustion on my face. She pauses, and something softens.

"You're running from something."

Not a question. A statement. My hand tightens around the keys. I stand there for a long moment.

Then I nod.

Mrs. Fletcher pats my arm. "Well, you came to the right place. Got a cottage by the cliff. Needs some work, but the view will heal you."

She drives me to the edge of town. The road narrows, winding along the coast until we're at the top of a cliff. The cottage is small, paint peeling, porch sagging.

But when she unlocks the door, I see it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. The Atlantic stretching forever, painted gold and orange by the setting sun. Waves crash against the rocks below.

I walk to the window and press my hand against the glass. My breathing slows. For the first time since Mom died, I feel like I can actually breathe.

In my past life, Blackwood Manor was all cold marble. Million-dollar art on the walls like a museum. Every room enormous and empty. Mom's piano room stayed locked. Nathaniel said it was Patricia's space and it would stay closed.

Every object in that house reminded me I didn't belong.

This broken cottage, with its peeling paint and creaking floors, is the first place that feels like I could actually live.

I turn to Mrs. Fletcher. "I'll take it."

She blinks. "Don't you want to know the rent first? Or see the rest?"

"I don't care. This is perfect."

Something flickers in her eyes. Understanding, maybe. She doesn't ask questions. Just nods. "I'll get the paperwork ready. You can move in tomorrow."

I look back at the window. Waves. Sunset. Freedom.

In my past life, I never had this.

The next morning, I drive into town for supplies. The general store is small, every shelf packed. The man behind the counter greets me with a huge smile. "You're the new lady at the cliff house? Welcome to Port Haven! We don't get many newcomers."

"Thanks. It's nice here."

"Quiet's our specialty. If you need anything, the doc next door is real helpful. Dr. Hayes, good man. Fixed up half the folks in town."

He gestures toward the window. Next to the store is a small clinic, blue sign reading "Port Haven Family Clinic, Dr. Liam Hayes."

I nod and grab my things.

Unpacking takes hours. Most of what I brought is Mom's. Photos of us at the park. Photos of her teaching, surrounded by kids and pianos. I arrange them on the windowsill where the light hits.

Then I pull out the keyboard. Small, cheap, keys yellowing. But it was hers. I set it up by the window and sit down.

My fingers find middle C. The sound fills the cottage, mixing with the crash of waves.

I start to play. Something simple Mom taught me when I was six. The notes come back like they've been waiting.

Mom was a piano teacher. I grew up learning from her. But after I married Nathaniel, the grand piano at Blackwood Manor was just decoration. I wasn't allowed to touch it.

This life, I'm taking back everything I lost.

The sun sets, golden light pouring through the windows. I finish the last note and close my eyes.

For the first time, I feel peace.

Hundreds of miles away, Nathaniel sits at the head of a conference table. Board members line both sides in perfect suits, faces neutral.

Richard Blackwood slams his hand on the table. Coffee cups jump. "What the hell happened last night? The media is going crazy! Do you know how many calls I've gotten? Investors are asking if we're stable enough to run this company!"

Nathaniel doesn't look up. He flips through a file, face blank. "Emma had a breakdown. She just lost her mother. She'll be back when she calms down."

Sophia is sitting at the far end. She sets down her coffee, voice gentle. "Nathan, maybe you should go find her? She just lost her mother. That's traumatic."

Nathaniel lifts his head. For a moment, his eyes meet Sophia's and something softens. Then it's gone.

He leans back, a smirk pulling at his mouth. "A woman with no family, no money, no connections. Where can she go? She'll realize she needs the Blackwood name and come back. They always do."

Richard leans forward. "You better hope so. If she goes to the press about that contract..."

"She won't." Nathaniel cuts him off. "She's not that stupid. And even if she tries, who would believe her? Mrs. Blackwood, who lived in luxury for three years, complaining about a deal that saved her mother's life?"

He closes the file with a snap.

Emma will come back. She has no choice.

It never occurs to him that this time, Emma isn't coming back.

I'm standing at the edge of the cliff. Wind whips my hair. The sky is deep purple and orange, stars beginning to appear.

My phone is in a drawer back at the cottage. Turned off.

Nathaniel has called thirty-seven times since last night. I haven't answered once.

At Blackwood Manor, the first thing I did every morning was check my phone. See if Nathaniel needed something. See if there was an event I had to attend. See what duties Mrs. Blackwood was expected to perform.

This life, I don't even need the phone.

I breathe in the salt air and close my eyes. Waves crashing. Gulls crying. A distant foghorn.

No Blackwood name. No pressure. No cold man telling me what to do. Just me, and the ocean.

I open my eyes and look at the horizon.

For the first time, there's no shadow of the past. No fear of the future. Just this moment, and the feeling of being completely, impossibly free.