She sighed, conflicted, but she didn’t argue. In the end, she promised to stand by me.
That night, before I slept, I set a countdown on my phone.
Three days until I walked away from the life I’d been clinging to.
The next morning, I asked my mother to prepare farewell gifts for Aunt Lyra—small tokens of gratitude for the years she’d protected me.
That evening, as I gave instructions to the delivery driver, I felt a familiar presence. Lorenzo stood nearby, watching, his gaze sharp.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“Just gifts,” I said evenly. “For my aunt.”
“Gifts?” His voice lowered. “Why?”
“Because I’m leaving.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t ask anything else. Maybe he thought I was bluffing.
Then Francesca appeared. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she slipped effortlessly into his side, looping her arm through his like it belonged there.
“Thank you for last night,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
I stepped back, done watching.
As I turned away, I heard her laugh.
“She’s so quiet, isn’t she? Sometimes I forget she’s even around.”
Whatever Lorenzo said in response no longer mattered.