Abigail froze, stunned by the news. She hadn’t expected him to attend, but it had nothing to do with her anymore. She forced a faint smile, offering another excuse. "I have something to handle," she said before quickly ending the call.
On the day she left, Abigail dug up the wish bottle from the yard. It was something she and Sebastian had buried together the day they moved into the house. Each of them had buried one, neither knowing the other’s wish.
Now, as she held her own bottle, she read the words she had written: I hope Abigail and Sebastian can grow old together, and I hope he can be healthy forever.
A bittersweet ache tugged at her heart. That wish would never come true—not for them. With a deep sigh, she tossed the bottle into the trash can, as if erasing the past with a single motion.
At 11 a.m., she left the house, suitcase in tow, leaving behind everything, even the memories of the two years she had spent there. As she stepped outside, she paused for a moment, glancing back at the place where she had once been happy. For three seconds, she stood still, then turned away, resolute.
By 12:30 p.m., she was at the airport, and the plane was ready for takeoff.