I start packing without calling it packing.
That feels important.
I don’t take suitcases. Just small things. A dress I like. My journal. The sweater that still smells like sugar and vanilla from the shop. Things that remind me I belong to myself.
I move slowly. Carefully. Like if I rush, the truth will catch up to me and ask questions I’m not ready to answer.
Ethan is on a call in his study. His voice is calm. Professional. Steady.
He sounds like a man who knows exactly where he stands in the world.
That makes something twist in me.
I pause in the doorway and watch him for a second. The way he leans back in his chair. One hand rubbing his temple. The other gripping the phone.
He looks tired.
I wonder if I ever look tired to him. Or if I just look convenient.
I close the door soft
