The next morning, I threw some clothes in a bag. It wasn’t much—just enough to get me through whatever this next chapter of my life was going to be. I needed to grab a few things from my hometown anyway. Maybe find pieces of the old Ember I lost somewhere along the way. The bus ride was long and quiet, just me and the rain tapping against the window. With each passing mile, it felt like I was shedding layers of the life I’d wrapped around myself. A life that revolved around him.
When I finally arrived, my mother was waiting at the front door. Not for me, of course. No, she was scanning the street for Tristan, like some fangirl waiting for a celebrity sighting. Her face twisted in disappointment when she realized I was alone.
“Where’s Tristan?” she snapped, her eyes narrowing like I’d committed some unspeakable crime.
“We’re done,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’m just waiting for the rejection.”
Before I could say more, her hand flew out and slapped me across the face. Hard. I staggered back, more stunned than hurt.