Ashes Behind Her Smile

Chapter 19: The Note She Refused to Keep

Weeks had turned into months, and Brylen had built a quiet, orderly life for herself in that small coastal town. She woke early, walked the shoreline until the sun was high, helped the local baker prepare bread for the day, and spent her evenings reading or sketching alone on her balcony. She told herself this was exactly what she wanted—peace, independence, no one to answer to, no one to fear losing.

But every few days, she’d find her hand drifting to the small, folded piece of paper she’d tucked into the bottom of her travel bag. It was the note Zhaiven, as she sometimes still caught herself calling him—had written her back on Aetheris Isle: I will always choose you.

Each time she pulled it out, she’d stare at the words for a long moment, her expression hardening little by little. Memories would rise up unbidden—his kindness, his patience, the way he’d held her when she was afraid—and then she’d shake her head sharply, anger and wariness taking over.

Why does he keep doing this? she’d think bitterly. Sending words, sending reminders… trying to make me feel like I owe him something, or like I need his care. I don’t. I never needed a man to save me or look after me. I’ve managed perfectly well on my own all these months.

One afternoon, the town’s postmaster brought her a thick, sealed envelope addressed in his handwriting. Inside were the full lab reports, security footage stills, witness statements, and Lisa’s own confession—all the proof of what had really happened that day. Tucked underneath was another short note from him: I respect your choice to be apart. But I wanted you to have the truth, so you aren’t carrying false doubts anymore. I’m here if you ever need anything.

Brylen flipped through the documents quickly, barely reading them. She didn’t want to examine them too closely. She didn’t want to soften toward him again. When she reached his note, she crumpled it tight in one hand, walked straight over to the small waste bin by her desk, and tossed it in without a second thought.

“I don’t need explanations,” she muttered to the empty room, her voice sharper than she intended. “I don’t need reminders, and I don’t need a man thinking he has the right to look after me. I’m fine just like this. Alone is safe. Alone is enough.”

Yet later that night, when the town had fallen quiet and the only sound was the waves rolling against the shore, she found herself staring at the waste bin where she’d thrown his note. Part of her wanted to fish it back out, smooth it out, and read it properly. But she pushed that thought firmly away. She’d spent so many years learning to stand on her own two feet, to rely only on herself. Letting him back in—even just his words—felt like a step backward, like she was admitting she still needed someone else to be okay.

She turned away from the bin and walked out onto the balcony, wrapping her shawl tight around herself against the sea breeze. The stars were bright overhead, the water dark and endless. Somewhere deep down, a quiet voice whispered that she might be throwing away something real, something precious. But she clamped her hands over that voice, refusing to listen.

I don’t need anyone’s care, she told herself again, staring out at the black horizon. I don’t.