_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

past him and start to run downstairs, my breath catching in my throat.
I’m afraid that he’ll grab me from behind and push me. I can hear him
getting to his feet, and he calls, “Megan! Where are you going? Are you
going to him?”
At the bottom of the stairs, I turn. “There is no him, OK? It’s over.”
“Please wait, Megan. Please don’t go.”
I don’t want to hear him beg, don’t want to listen to the whine in his
voice, the self-pity. Not when my throat still feels like someone’s poured
acid down it.
“Don’t follow me,” I croak at him. “If you follow me, I’ll never come
back. Do you understand? If I turn around and see you behind me, that’ll
be the last time you ever see my face.”
I can hear him calling my name as I slam the door behind me.
I wait on the pavement outside for a few moments to make sure he
isn’t following me, then I walk, quickly at first, then slower, and slower,
along Blenheim Road. I get to number twenty-three and it’s then that I
lose my nerve. I’m not ready for this scene yet. I need a minute to collect
myself. A few minutes. I walk on, past the house, past the underpass,
past the station. I keep going until I get to the park and then I dial his
number one more time.
I tell him that I’m in the park, that I’ll wait for him there, but if he
doesn’t come, that’s it, I’m going round to the house. This is his last
chance.
It’s a lovely evening, a little after seven but still warm and light. A
bunch of kids are still playing on the swings and the slide, their parents
standing off to one side, chatting animatedly. It looks nice, normal, and
as I watch them I have a sickening feeling that Scott and I will not bring
our daughter here to play. I just can’t see us happy and relaxed like that.
Not now. Not after what I’ve just done.
I was so convinced this morning that getting everything out in the
open would be the best way—not just the best way, the only way. No
more lying, no more hiding. And then when he hurt me, it only made me
all the more sure. But now, sitting here on my own, with Scott not just
furious but heartbroken, I don’t think it was the right thing at all. I wasn’t
being strong, I was being reckless, and there’s no telling how much
damage I’ve done.
Maybe the courage I need has nothing to do with telling the truth and
everything to do with walking away. It’s not just restlessness—this is
more than that. For her sake and mine, now is the time to go, to walk