Chapter 3,
Chapter 3
Back home from the hospital, I unearthed several dusty camera bags from the back of my bookshelf
– relics of a life I’d deliberately buried. The camera felt foreign in my hands, its batteries long dead.
While the charger did its work, I slipped the memory card into my computer and opened the forgotten photos. The first showed me treating a woman for cholera on a dirt road in Congo. The second captured a child soldier, barely five, dwarfed by his rifle. The third revealed refugees in East
Meridian Province, huddled under tattered shelters…
The scent of smoke and dust seemed to seep through the screen, yanking me back. My chest tightened, pain spreading like tendrils through my body. I leaned back, eyes closed, willing my pulse to slow. A wry smile crossed my lips. Would Jackson still call me “obedient and docile” if he saw
these?
My phone buzzed – Jackson texting the restaurant address. Tonight was the dinner with his wedding party. I had few close friends, so they were all his people. But this wasn’t just any gathering. Sara
had come home.
By the time I arrived, they’d ordered. Jackson sat at the head of the table, Sara beside him. No place
had been set for me.
Sara noticed my arrival with a smirk, looking me up and down. “Just grab a chair wherever,” she said casually.
I pulled one to the furthest corner. Jackson watched impassively, saying nothing.
“Sara, we didn’t think you’d make it back!” someone broke the silence.
“Miss Zoey’s wedding? I’d crawl here if I had to – just to see who he’s marrying.”
Knowing looks passed around the table, laughter tinged with mockery.
“Well, you two do have history.”
The conversation centered on Sara after that. She regaled them with tales: Celestial Sea tuna fishing, hiking the Camino de Santiago, scaling Uluru. They hung on every word, eyes shining with
admiration.
“Zoey, how can you go to such dangerous places as a woman?”
“Hmph!” Sara shot me a glance, voice dripping with disdain. “Some of us think beyond cooking and
13.8%
Chapter 3.
playing housewife.”
The words cut deep. I knocked back a shot of tequila, its burn numbing my tongue until the food lost
all taste.
She commanded the room, and Jackson… Jackson watched her with such tenderness his
melt butter.
gaze could
During her story about Saharah Kingdomian scammers, she turned to him suddenly. “Want to learn how to say ‘my darling‘ in France?”
Jackson hesitated, then shook his head.
“I’ll teach you!” She leaned into his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “Chérie~”
He gently straightened her, ears flushing pink. “Sit properly…”
“Say it with me!”
He sighed, yielding to her playful persistence. “Chéri…”
“Perfect! You’re my chérie~”
Her eyes danced mischievously before fixing on me. “Ever been to Continent of Azora?”
