Chapter 5 A new start

Felicia stared at the message one last time, her heart thudding. "Running won't protect you. We're not done." She exhaled sharply, not fearfully-but tiredly. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she pressed the block. No hesitation. No more drama. No more ghosts. "I left all the chaos in New York," she muttered under her breath. "I'm not letting anyone ruin my mood." The plane wheels screeched against the tarmac as the aircraft finally landed in Cape Town. As soon as the seatbelt sign dimmed, she stood, stretching her limbs, stiff from hours of travel and emotional weight.

As she stepped out into the humid Cape air, a new wave of sensation swept over her. Uncertainty. The air smelled different. Briny, with a hint of something unfamiliar. Freedom, maybe. Or fear. But whatever it was, she welcomed it. With her suitcase dragging behind her and a worn leather purse slung over her shoulder, Felicia boarded a cab bound for the city. The driver was quiet, the ride long. She stared out the window, her eyes tracing the unfamiliar skyline-tall glass towers beside rugged hills, streets alive with strangers and rhythm. Everything was new. Everything was hers to rediscover. After hours of searching and countless rejections, she finally came across a small, vacant apartment tucked behind a weathered café on a quiet street. The space was nothing special-just four walls, a tiny kitchen, a single window-but it was hers. The landlady, a stern older woman with kind eyes, looked her over with silent judgment before nodding. "One month upfront. No trouble, no noise. You clean up after yourself." Felicia smiled, digging into her envelope. "No trouble at all. I promise." The key was cold in her hand. But it was a beginning. As soon as she stepped inside the apartment, she dropped her bag and collapsed onto the old couch pushed against the far wall. A sigh escaped her lips-equal parts relief and exhaustion. She stared up at the ceiling, the silence pressing in, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe. She reached for her phone. Dad. It rang twice. "Felicia?" His voice broke through immediately, rough and raw with emotion. "Hi, Daddy. I just wanted to let you know... I made it." Silence. Then a sharp inhale. "Oh, thank God." There was a hitch in his voice. "Are you okay? Is everything alright? Did you eat?" "I'm fine," she said softly, smiling through the lump in her throat. "Found a small apartment. It's nothing fancy, but... it'll do." "I miss you," he blurted out. "The house is too quiet without your humming. And I don't even like the tea here anymore-it never tastes right when you're not the one making it." Felicia laughed gently. "I miss you too, Daddy." "Don't let anyone make you feel small, baby. You're stronger than they think." "I know. You always taught me that." Another pause. Then softly, "If it gets too hard... You can always come home." Her eyes stung. "Not yet. I need to try." "I know," he whispered. "Just... promise me you'll eat, alright? And sleep. Don't wear that sad face too long." "I promise." They stayed on the line a little longer, talking about nothing and everything-her new window view, the creaky floorboards, the smell of curry drifting from the neighbor's kitchen. And then finally, reluctantly, she hung up. The apartment was quiet again. But not empty. She stood, rolled up her sleeves, and began unpacking. Slowly, gently, she folded her clothes into the wooden wardrobe. She placed the tiny ceramic mug her dad had slipped into her bag on the windowsill. A scarf fell from her bag, she picked it up and she froze because that was the gift Emily gave her on her birthday. Why would Emily do this to me? She muttered shakily.