Page 103 of Broken Trails
The room stills for a second. Olivia’s the one to break the silence. “It must feel real different being here compared to Sydney, huh?”
“It does. But… it’s growing on me. And I’m not exactly new here.”
“Wait, wait.” Amelia sits up straighter. “You used to live here?”
I nod again, this time slower. “I grew up here. Moved to Sydney to study, started a career in marketing and business management, and stayed. Been there ever since.”
At the word marketing, Isla perks up. “No way. Our best friend Claire works in marketing too.”
Imogen nods. “Yeah, she’s with that creative branding agency… what’s it called?”
“Haus & Harper?”
“Did you say Claire?” I glance between them, because I know that name. Very well. “As in Claire Williams?”
Both their jaws drop. “You know her?” Isla asks.
“Yeah. We’ve had meetings together,” I say. “A few projects overlapped. She’s amazing. Incredibly smart. I always admired how she handled herself.”
Imogen beams. “She’s going to lose her mind when she finds out you’re in Wattle Creek.”
“She’ll probably scream,” Isla laughs. “I’ll text her tomorrow.”
Across the room, Olivia leans forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “Okay, but… why did you move back here then?”
That question feels heavier than it should. Heavier than Olivia realises. I grip my wine glass and swirl the liquid, watching it catch the light. It gives me something to focus on while I try to organise the thoughts colliding in my chest. The truth sticks to the back of my throat.
But I didn’t come here to keep hiding. “I left Sydney after I caught my husband fucking his secretary in our apartment.”
Gasps ripple through the room.
“No, he fucking didn’t,” Olivia blurts out.
Imogen holds up a hand. “Hold the fuck on. You’re married?”
“Was,” I correct gently. “Well, technically, I still am. But not for much longer.”
My breath tightens. I pull in air slowly, then release it just as carefully, though it still comes out shaky. “He lied,” I say. “For years.” The words come out slow, brittle. My fingers tighten around the stem of my wine glass. “I married him because he was everything I thought I wanted. Charming when he needed to be. I was twenty-six, working my dream job, and he made it all seem so… mapped out.” I let out a short breath. “I didn’t know any better. Liam was all I knew. The comfort of routine felt a lot like love when I’d never seen anything else. I thought stability meant happiness.”
The room is silent. Not stiff, just listening.
“Things changed slowly. Subtle at first. The gaslighting. The brushing off. Making me feel paranoid for asking where he was or why his phone was face down all the time. Emotional affairs that he swore were ‘just friendships.’ Late nights at work. Meetings that didn’t exist. Passwords changed. Cold shoulders. That constant sense of being kept out—locked out—of my own life.” I swallow, and it scrapes on the way down, my voice catching when I speak next.
“And then… he became physical. At first, I didn’t even realise it had crossed a line. It was a grab too tight. A shove when he thought I was in the way. Raised voices that became slamming doors. Breaking glasses. Making me flinch just so he could laugh.”
Imogen’s hand reaches out, grounding and warm against my thigh.
“I stayed. Because leaving felt bigger than surviving it then. I made excuses. I convinced myself he was stressed. Overworked. That maybe if I just tried harder, softened more, kept the peace, he’d come back to me. To the version I fell for.”
“Oh, Zoe,” Isla says softly, voice full of sympathy.
“That’s the thing they don’t tell you. You don’t wake up one day in hell. You arrive in small increments. Until the fear feels normal. Until you’re so used to shrinking, you don’t even notice how small you’ve become.” I blink away the tears forming in my eyes. “I had everything to fear,” I whisper. “Losing my job, my reputation, my friends. Starting over. Not being believed. But eventually… staying became scarier than leaving. So, by the time I finally found proof, saw it with my own eyes, I wasn’t even angry. I wasn’t surprised. I just felt… empty.”
I finally glance around. Amelia shifts closer and places her hand gently over mine. Her warmth anchors me, but I can feel their eyes on me—wide, uncertain. They’re trying to process it all—the pieces of me I laid out on the table—and I can feel the sympathy brimming behind their silence. It makes my skin crawl.
But it’s not the pity that unnerves me most. It’s Imogen. Her expression isn’t sympathetic. She sees more than I meant to show.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Olivia murmurs. “That’s… that’s a lot, Zoe.”
