CHORALE SANDERS (THE NOVELLA) [CHAPTER ONE- I HAVE TO GO]

It was as if the universe could feel her pain. The clouds had darkened, and a heavy storm loomed overhead. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, the rain began to pour.

Exactly how I wanted my day to go, she thought sarcastically. But Chorale could not stop driving. She had to do this today. Today seemed like her only chance.

Tears streamed down her face as her mind drifted to the moments she had shared with Kay. Everything was about to change, and she was helpless to stop it. She had no choice but to watch her world crumble. She had to leave — and she had to do it today.

Kay was out of the country on a business trip. He had been away for two days, and she had used the opportunity to put her escape plan into action — a plan she had secretly nurtured for years.

Twenty minutes later, she arrived at Kay’s house — their home. She stepped out of the car and stood watching the building, indifferent to the rain soaking through her clothes. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, as though it might explode at any moment.

This was not the rush of excitement or anxiety. It was pure pain — overwhelming and relentless.

She took in the sight of the house she had lived in for years. It was a modern two-storey building painted in cream and black. Chorale loved gardens, and so there were large ones on either side of the house. Heavy sensor gates stood at the front and back, enclosing a vast compound. A spacious garage stretched along the side of the building to the rear.

Kay loved cars — he owned many of them. One of his companies dealt in car imports and exports, and he was already planning to venture into manufacturing. The house itself was made mostly of glass rather than concrete walls. She remembered how excited he had been about the glass design when he bought the place. There were six bedrooms in total — three upstairs and three downstairs — along with a large living room and an equally spacious kitchen and dining area.

The rain now fell in torrents. Realizing she had little time, she rushed inside. The doors were unlocked, which could only mean Mama Rica was home.

Mama Rica, the older woman who worked in the house, had been with them for several years. Naturally, both Kay and Chorale had grown close to her. She was kind-hearted and soft-spoken, a woman in her late fifties who treated them like her own children, having none of her own. They, in turn, respected her deeply.

Most days, even when there was little work to do — since Chorale handled most of the cooking and cleaning — she still came by simply to spend time with them. She had refused to live in the house permanently, saying she could not leave behind the memories she shared with her late husband. Still, she kept a room there.

Today, unlike other days when she would have gone straight to the kitchen to hug her and share stories about her day, Chorale prayed Mama Rica wouldn’t notice her. She hurried upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Kay and packed her belongings into one of the suitcases she had bought the previous day.

She wasn’t taking everything. That would raise suspicion. Call her strange, but she wanted to leave some of her things behind — so he wouldn’t forget her.

Kay.

She was going to miss him terribly. She loved him deeply, yet leaving him now seemed like the only way out of a situation too complex to explain.

Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the countless times he had asked her never to leave him — had asked her to be his forever. Even then, she had known that a moment like this might come, yet she had still promised she would stay.

She slid down the wall opposite the bedroom door and buried her face in her hands. The tears came freely. This was going to be hard. She had never wished for this, but life rarely gives us what we want. Now she had to make a decision she wasn’t even sure was right.

The sound of glass shattering downstairs startled her, forcing her to stand. She had to be quick. Kay was due to return that day, and she could not risk being seen.

She dragged a footstool to the closet, climbed onto it, and lifted one suitcase onto the top shelf of the large wardrobe they shared.

As she stepped down, a memory flashed through her mind, and she sobbed louder, biting her lip to keep Mama Rica from hearing.

When she first moved in, she had once tried repeatedly to reach the top of the closet but failed each time, nearly falling in the process. Kay, who had watched her the entire time, had burst into laughter.

“You know this closet was designed with you in mind, right? It was meant so even you could reach the top. Apparently, I overestimated.”

He had laughed so hard that she pretended to be angry, throwing a pillow that hit him squarely in the face. He never joked about her height again — at least not in her presence.

It was moments like these she would miss the most.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and forced the memory aside. She had to leave. It was going to be a long flight from Ghana to Mexico.

Picking up the smaller suitcase containing only the essentials, she cast one final, painful look around the room, shut the door, and ran.

She ran like her life depended on it — because it did. She ran as though escape might silence the guilt consuming her.

Halfway down the stairs, her long black dress caught beneath her feet, and she fell. A curse escaped her lips. The maplewood stairs amplified the sound of her fall, making it impossible to go unnoticed.

Within seconds, Mama Rica rushed from the kitchen.

This was not part of the plan.

Mama Rica’s eyes quickly fell on the suitcase in Chorale’s hand, and her expression darkened with confusion. She hurried to help her up, but Chorale burst into tears. She had hoped to leave without being seen.

“Chorale, my dear, stop crying,” Mama Rica said gently, though her confusion was evident. She sat beside her on the stairs and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Calm down and talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you going with that suitcase?”

Through her sobs, Chorale replied, “Mama Rica, I have to go. Please… don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” She gently pulled away from the hug.

Mama Rica could not understand. In all the years she had known them, the young couple had only ever had minor disagreements — ones that resolved quickly. Surely this was not the result of a simple quarrel. Why then was she leaving? And where was she going?

“Chorale, please,” she urged. “Why do you have to leave? Where are you going?” It pained her to see the usually cheerful young woman so distressed.

“I cannot tell you anything right now,” Chorale said, taking the older woman’s face in her trembling hands. “But promise me something, Mama Rica. Promise you’ll take care of him for me — now that I won’t be here to.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t leave him like I am. Please.”

Both women were crying now.

Chorale let out a soft, broken laugh. “You and I both know that man can’t take care of himself.”

She stared into space as she continued, “Remind him to watch the late news every day… to stop leaving his clothes on the floor… to leave his shoes outside after work… not to leave his beer glasses in the sink…”

Her voice broke again. She rose from the stairs and looked at Mama Rica one last time.

“Remind him not to forget me.”

Before Mama Rica could fully process what had just happened, Chorale ran out of the house. The rain still fell heavily as she drove out of the compound. The electronic gates closed behind her.

What had just happened?