I missed the deadline.
And now what?
Now the annulment isn’t just a simple signature. It’s going to be a problem. A delay. A complication.
And complications are exactly the kind of thing my father notices.
A laugh bubbles up, sharp and humorless. Because of course this happens. Of course I can’t even avoid disaster correctly.
My gaze blurs as my mind jumps ahead, too fast.
My dad finding out.
Not just that I got married, but that I got married without dating. That I got married drunkenly, impulsively, like some idiot teenager. That the man I married is his team captain, his asset, his symbol of discipline and leadership.
Coach Petrov will go berserk.
Not an annoyed lecture. Not a disappointed sigh.
Berserk.
He’ll look at me like I’m a liability. He’ll look at me like he looks at Katia.
I imagine him pacing with that tight jaw he gets when he’s furious, the one that makes his cheek flex. I imagine the words he’ll choose, clipped and sharp, designed to cut.
My hands shake so badly the papers rattle.
I drop them on the floor like they’ve burned me, and I stand up too fast, dizzy with the sudden surge of panic.
The room tilts. I grab the edge of a table to steady myself.
It’s too much.
The walls of this house feel closer than they did yesterday, like they’ve shifted inward while I wasn’t looking. Like the air itself has shifted.
I pace, one end of the studio to the other, bare feet slapping the floor. My heart is going so fast it feels like it’s trying to escape my ribs.
I need out.
Not like, a walk around the block out.
Out-out.
I start yanking a suitcase from the closet before I can talk myself out of it.
I throw clothes in without folding. Hoodies. Jeans. Leggings. Underwear. Whatever my hands grab.
My movements are frantic and messy.
I grab my toiletries bag and toss it in.
Then I start gathering painting supplies like they’re oxygen. I can’t take much, though. Only what fits. A few brushes. My favorite palette knife. A small set of acrylics. A couple of blank canvases.
My gaze catches on the stack of legal papers.
I pick them up carefully, my fingers suddenly unsteady.
I flip to the page with Jake’s address.
