“I cared more than any of you deserved.”
Then I walked out.
The cold air hit my face like a blessing.
The driver took my suitcases.
I slid into the back seat of the Rolls-Royce and looked once through the window at the house that had tried to unmake me.
Diane stood in the foyer clutching the staircase rail.
Evan remained frozen near the table where I had left my ring.
Richard sat bent forward, the file open in his hands, staring at the first page as if the words might rearrange themselves into mercy.
They did not.
As the car pulled away, I did not cry.
I expected grief.
Instead I felt the unfamiliar weight of space.
No one watching me.
No one correcting me.
No one waiting to tell me who I was.
