Arlene
I stepped off the plane, the bright lights of Las Vegas flooding my vision. The city buzzed with energy, its promises of new beginnings swirling in the air. But I felt none of it. All I carried was a heavy heart—the ache of leaving behind everything I had once held dear.
The man I had loved. The life I had known. And the small but growing life within me.
As I walked through the terminal, my heels clicked against the polished floor, and my heart pounded in anticipation of the life I had left behind. I clutched my bag tightly, the only anchor in a sea of emotions threatening to drown me.
“Arlene!”
I turned at the sound of my name—my real name, not the ghost of an identity I had shed. It felt surreal yet familiar, and a faint smile tugged at my lips at the thought of reclaiming it
