Chapter 4: The Day I Walked Away

I didn’t cry that morning.

For the first time in eight years, I woke up beside Adrian without waiting for him to turn toward me. He slept with his back to me, breathing evenly, as if nothing in our lives had changed.

I watched him for a few seconds.

Once, I would have reached for his hand. That morning, I simply got out of bed.

My suitcase was already open on the floor. I packed a few dresses, my identification documents, and what little cash I had saved. My canvas tote went in last, along with my brown notebook and gold pen.

I left the jewelry Adrian had bought me. I left our wedding photograph, too.

I didn’t want anything that might tempt me to come back.

While checking beneath the bed, I found one of Sophie’s old shoes. It was tiny, with a faded pink bow on top.

I sat down, holding it in my palm.

I remembered Sophie as a baby, her warm cheek against my chest, her little fingers wrapped around mine. Back then, I’d thought loving her would be the easiest thing in the world.

My eyes stung.

“I tried, sweetheart,” I whispered. “I really did.”

I put the shoe back and zipped my suitcase.

Downstairs, Sophie was playing with her dollhouse while Margaret sat nearby, scrolling through her tablet. Margaret noticed my luggage almost immediately.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Somewhere else.”

She lowered her tablet. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re throwing another tantrum. Adrian has enough problems without dealing with your drama.”

I adjusted my grip on the suitcase handle.

“Don’t worry. I’m not asking him for anything anymore.”

For once, Margaret had nothing to say.

Sophie looked up from her toys. “Mommy, why do you have a suitcase?”

“I’m going away for a while, sweetheart.”

“Where?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She glanced at the dollhouse, then back at me. “Will you be back before Aunt Isabella visits?”

The question hurt more than I expected.

I crouched beside her. “Sophie, will you miss me?”

She fiddled with a tiny doll’s dress.

“I guess a little. But Aunt Isabella can still visit, right?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Of course she can.”

Sophie smiled and returned to playing.

I waited a moment, foolishly hoping she might change her mind and throw her arms around me.

She didn’t.

I stood, picked up my suitcase, and headed for the door.

Part of me still expected Adrian to appear on the stairs. I imagined him asking where I was going, or at least wondering why I was leaving without saying goodbye.

But the staircase stayed empty.

Outside, I took out my phone and typed a message.

“Adrian, I’m leaving. I need time away from this house. Please don’t look for me.”

My thumb hovered over the screen. I almost added that I was sorry, though I wasn’t even sure what I’d be apologizing for.

In the end, I sent the message and switched off my phone.

The morning air was cold. I had no real destination, and my savings wouldn’t last forever. My body had been feeling weaker lately, too, and I didn’t know what would happen if my condition worsened while I was alone.

But I couldn’t spend whatever time I had left begging to matter.

I walked until I reached a small flower shop. Through the window, I saw a little girl choosing yellow flowers with her father. He bent down to listen to her excited chatter before kissing her forehead.

I looked away.

All I’d wanted was a husband who listened and a daughter who wanted me around. A home where I didn’t have to prove I deserved a place.

Was that really so much to ask?

I pulled out my notebook and wrote a few lines beneath my unfinished story.

Maybe leaving doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving someone. Maybe it means you’re tired of losing yourself trying to make them love you back.

I closed the notebook and stepped off the curb.

A horn blared.

I turned, but the car was already too close.

The impact knocked me sideways. My suitcase slid across the road, spilling clothes and books onto the pavement. Pain shot through my body, and I struggled to draw a full breath.

“Miss! Can you hear me?”

A man dropped beside me. His hands hovered uncertainly, as though he was afraid moving me might make things worse.

Then his eyes fell on the silver pendant at my neck.

He went completely still.

“No,” he whispered.

He leaned closer, staring at my face. His expression shifted from disbelief to something that looked almost like fear.

“Clara?”

I tried to focus on him. “How do you know my name?”

He turned sharply toward someone nearby.

“Call an ambulance! Now!”

Then he took out his phone, his voice shaking as he spoke.

“I found her. Get the car ready and call our family doctor. Tell my parents we found her.”

He looked down at me again. Tears gathered in his eyes.

“We've been looking for you for years,” he said, gently taking my hand. “Please, just hold on.”

I wanted to ask him who he was. I wanted to know why he looked at me as if I were someone he’d lost long ago.

But the edges of my vision had begun to darken.

His grip tightened around my hand.

“Hang on, little sister,” he whispered. “I’ve found you.”

Then everything went black.