From now on, they could choose her. They could have her. They already had.
And I would let them.
The next morning, I walked into my office and slipped a folded resignation letter into my desk drawer. No drama. No goodbye speeches.
When I left the Alpha’s wing, my heart felt light.
Back at the house, I started packing.
I began with the boxes of memories shoved in my closet — the ones I used to take out on nights when I needed to remind myself why I stayed.
Photos of Ryan and Warren standing tall beside me as children at the border, all three of us muddy and grinning.
Pictures of us as teens winning equestrian tournaments, me still clutching the bouquet they’d given me afterward.
Trips across territories during our university breaks — me asleep on Warren’s shoulder, Ryan snapping the photo with his usual teasing grin.
There were gifts, too. Necklaces, books, old scrapbooks lovingly pieced together by their hands.
The memories were vivid — but they no longer mattered.
One by one, I carried them to the fireplace. The flames took each picture and devoured it eagerly.