Chapter 8
Tina was speechless. Hansel was yelling at her, calling her names, and had just hung up on her. "What did I even do wrong?" she wondered. Her anger was short-lived, however, as the butler, Gary Jenkins, arrived with a list of gifts. "Ms. Johnson, are these gifts sufficient?"
Tina examined the premium items meticulously, ensuring accuracy before nodding. "These gifts are for Dr. Young. Be more careful selecting gifts for her. No mistakes, understand?"
"Yes, Ms. Johnson."
"Ms. Sutton, this is the closest available property to Bedford College. The lighting and environment are excellent. Many people want this unit; if you don't decide now, it will be rented within hours."
The property agent continued, while Miranda surveyed the two-bedroom apartment. The building was at least a decade old, not dilapidated, but traditional. However, its proximity to Bedford College, a nearby library, public transport, and abundant natural light made it ideal.
"Alright, I'll take it," Miranda decided, signing the year-long lease.
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Winter found Miranda's suitcase in the living room. "Are you moving out?"
Miranda, packing, replied, "Yes. I've found a new place."
Winter hummed. "Did Hansel come looking for you? Not bad—you lasted a week! You should leave him hanging sometimes; otherwise, he'll walk all over you"
Miranda stopped, meeting Winter's gaze. "Winter, Hansel and I are really broken up. I'm not going back."
Winter was stunned, finally believing Miranda. For six years, she'd watched Miranda lose herself for Hansel, dimming her own light to be his perfect—though unacknowledged—housewife. He hadn't even given her a title, meaning nothing to him. He was a jerk, a bastard, and a user.
"Finally! Wonderful news! You should have done this ages ago! There are plenty of other men. You'll be fine without him!"
"Absolutely," Miranda agreed.
"So, you're serious? No crawling back in two days?"
Miranda laughed, speechless.
On her way to the new apartment, Miranda stopped for supplies. The apartment was old—peeling walls needed paint, and the furniture looked antique. She bought eco-friendly paint to repaint it herself.
"Could you help me with these?" she asked the cab driver, who helped unload the paint. Miranda sighed; her apartment was on the seventh floor. She'd have to carry everything up alone. Moving the furniture would allow for rearranging later.
She carried the heavy paint cans, resting every two floors, finally reaching her apartment, exhausted. After resting, she freshened up, gathered her painting supplies, and began painting, rolling up her sleeves and getting to work.
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