Tonight, I got silence.
Diana yawned, stretching.
“I’m going to crash here, if that’s okay,” she said. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
I looked at her, gratitude tightening my throat again.
“Please,” I said.
She stood, pulled a throw blanket from one of my boxes, and draped it over herself on the far end of the couch like she’d done it a hundred times.
I rose slowly, dress rustling, and walked to the bedroom.
The room was empty except for a bed with clean sheets and a single lamp. I closed the door behind me, then stood in the center of the room, alone.
I unfastened the pearls and set them carefully on the nightstand.
I stepped out of the dress.
The fabric slid down like a shed skin. I folded it gently, not because it deserved gentleness, but because I did.
In the mirror, I looked different.
Not prettier.
Not worse.
Just… awake.
I washed my face. The water was cool. My cheeks were red from crying, my eyes tired.
I brushed my hair slowly, each stroke calming.
Then I crawled into bed.
The sheets were crisp and smelled faintly of detergent.
In the quiet, I finally let myself think of Seattle. The job offer. The possibility of rain and anonymity and a skyline that didn’t know my family.
I didn’t know exactly when I would go.
But I knew I could.
Because I’d already done the hardest part.
I’d stopped pretending.
In the living room, I heard Diana shift and sigh, the sound of a friend who had decided she would be your anchor without being asked.
My eyes closed.
And in the darkness, I let the last thought of the night settle in my chest.
This was not the end.
This was the first honest beginning I’d had in a long time.
