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Darius picked up the suitcase and headed for the door.
“Goodbye, Amara. Don’t be angry. This is better for everyone.”
Amara heard the elevator descend, taking her past with it. Amara spent the first three days in a daze. She got up, mechanically made herself breakfast that she couldn’t eat, wandered the apartment, and stared out the window.
The world outside continued its normal life. People rushed to work. Children played in the yard.
Music played somewhere. But her world had stopped. She didn’t call her friends.
She didn’t want to hear sympathy in their voices or advice that wouldn’t help anyway. She didn’t want to see pity in their eyes. Poor Amara.
Her husband left her over her weight. She could already hear those words in her head, spoken in different voices. On the fourth day, she finally left the apartment.
She needed to buy groceries. The fridge was empty. Amara pulled on jeans, which struggled to button over her midriff, grabbed a spacious tunic and her purse, and went outside.
The grocery store was two blocks away. On the way, she ran into her neighbor, Cheryl, with whom she sometimes chatted by the building entrance. “Amara,” Cheryl called out.
“Haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”
I haven’t run into him lately.”
“He left for work,” Amara lied quickly, walking past without giving her a chance to continue the conversation. At the store, she mechanically threw items into her cart. Whole grain rice, milk, bread, eggs.
Passing the bakery section, she stopped. On the shelf were her favorite pastries, custard éclairs. Darius used to make a remark every time he saw them in the fridge.
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