I forced myself to breathe. Once. Twice. My chest rattled as though it might collapse in on itself. Then, with a hand that trembled but no longer faltered, I picked up the pen.
The scratch of my name across the page was jagged, shaky, but real. Every letter carved another link off the chain. Every stroke pried open the bars of the cage that had held me. By the time I set the pen down, my hand was cramping, my eyes wet with silent tears.
Evelyn Lennox. My name, but no longer my prison.
I folded the papers with deliberate care, slid them into the thick envelope I had prepared days ago, and sealed it. My heart thundered against my ribs, yet beneath the fear was a startling lightness, as though I had drawn my first true breath in years.
I placed the envelope in the center of the dining table, right where Matthew would see it the moment he walked in. My reflection stared back at me from the windowpane—pale, hollow-eyed, but no longer bound.
There would be no confrontation. No begging for scraps of affection. No last chance for him to twist the truth. By the time Matthew read these words, I would already be gone.