He Put Me On Do Not Disturb For Three Years, But Prioritized His Stepsister Chapter 05

He Put Me On Do Not Disturb For Three Years, But Prioritized His Stepsister Chapter 05

When the plane landed and the cabin door opened, damp ocean air rushed in.

At the airport, I bought a new SIM card, snapped the old one in two, and dropped it in the trash..

That number had been tied to Sean for five years.

It held his birthday, our anniversaries, and even his mother’s preferences.

Now it was nothing but a piece of useless plastic.

I texted my parents, “Just getting away for a change of scenery. Don’t worry.”

Then I turned off my phone and sat on an airport bench for a long time.

I had no plan, not even a clue where my next meal would come from.

But I felt lighter.

It wasn’t joy. It was the stillness that comes after you’ve been hollowed out.

Like pulling out a thorn that had been buried in me for three years; the wound was still bleeding, but it finally didn’t hurt.

I booked a room at the guesthouse closest to the beach.

There was no fingerprint lock here, only an old brass key.

It slid into the lock, turned, and clicked home.

The click felt solid. It belonged only to me.

That first night, I slept deeply.

No phone buzzing, no one padding out for water in the middle of the night, no one calling another woman’s name in his sleep.

My stomach didn’t hurt either.

The next morning, I went out for a bowl of seafood porridge.

I ordered it extra spicy, with lots of cilantro and minced garlic.

Sean always used to say at breakfast, “Isn’t that too much for your stomach this early?”

So for three years, I’d eaten plain porridge with pickles.

That bowl was so spicy it made my forehead sweat, and it felt amazing.

It was like scalding every inch of my insides and burning away all the resentment I’d swallowed for

years.

After breakfast, I walked along the beach.

A white-haired old man had set up a sketching stand by the road, drawing portraits for tourists.

I stood nearby and watched for a long time.

He looked up at me. “Do you paint too, miss?”

“Yes,” I said. “I painted for a few years.”

“Want to give it a try?”

I took his brush and painted a stretch of sea on the board.

He studied it and nodded.

“Not bad. There’s real spirit in it.”.

“But there’s still something bottled up inside you.”

The old man laughed and gestured toward a gallery around the corner.

“My gallery needs an artist-in-residence. If you’re interested, come take a look.”

On the third day, I went to the gallery.

It was small and faced the sea, with a few potted plants by the door.

The old man had me leave my portfolio, flipped through it, and asked just one question.

“Did it hurt to paint these?”

I shook my head.

“No. When I finished, I felt very light.”

He smiled and pointed at the room on the second floor that faced the sea.

“Then stay. That’s your spot.”

On the fifth day after settling in Northport, a call came in from a strange number.

I assumed it was a spam call and hung up.

A moment later, a text popped up.

“Ella, it’s Sean. Are you done with this tantrum?”

I glanced at it and tapped lightly.

Blocked. Deleted.

The sea breeze lifted the hem of my dress. I slipped my phone into my pocket and picked up my

brush.

On the canvas, a white bird was soaring over a wide blue sea, toward the clouds.

Nothing held it back. No one had decided which branch it had to land on.