Isabelle's face twisted with pure rage. Her carefully constructed facade shattered, revealing the raw, ugly malice beneath. She stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes two burning coals. "You think you're so high and mighty, don't you, Celeste? But you're nothing! You're still just a pathetic stand-in!"

With a guttural scream, she lunged. Her hands shot out, catching me by surprise, and shoved me with all her might. I stumbled backward, the railing of the balcony suddenly cold against my back. And then, I was falling.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips, but my hand, instinctual, shot out and grabbed her wrist. We both screamed, a terrified duet, as I dangled precariously over the edge.

"Holden! Help me! Holden!" Isabelle shrieked, her voice frantic, tears streaming down her face. "She's trying to drag me down! Save me!"

Holden burst onto the balcony, his face a ghostly white. He saw us, both hanging, one above the other, his eyes wide with horror. He rushed forward, his hand reaching out.

"Holden! Save me! Please, Holden, don't let her kill me!" Isabelle wailed, her grip on my wrist surprisingly strong.

He hesitated, his gaze darting between us. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, landed on me. I saw the indecision, the primal fear. And then, the choice.

He reached for Isabelle.

"I'll save you, Isabelle!" he cried, his voice strained. "Just hold on! I'll come back for you, Celeste! I promise!"

I looked at him, at his desperate, familiar lie. A bitter, mirthless laugh bubbled up from my throat. It was the same lie he always told, the same false promise. And I was done believing it. Done waiting. Done hoping.

With a sudden, deliberate motion, I let go.

The fall was swift, a terrifying plunge into nothingness. I hit the cool, welcoming water of the swimming pool below, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Darkness enveloped me, a merciful oblivion.

I woke up later, in my own room, my clothes changed, a clean bandage on my arm from where I'd scraped it against the pool edge. The room was empty. No Holden. Of course.

My phone vibrated. A text from him.

Celeste, I'm so sorry. Isabelle had another panic attack. I had to stay with her. I'll make it up to you. I'll buy you a new car. Anything you want.

I stared at the words, a cold, empty laugh escaping my lips. A new car. Anything I want. He still thought he could buy my forgiveness, buy my love. He still thought I was the old Celeste, the one who craved his attention, his material offerings.

I don't need your compensation, Holden, I thought, closing my eyes. I need to be free of you.

Later that day, another text popped up. This one from the Civil Affairs Bureau.

Your divorce has been finalized. Please come to collect your divorce certificate.

A long, slow breath escaped me, a decade of unspoken pain and silent sacrifice finally exhaled. It was over. Truly over.

I finished packing the last, essential items. My passport, my work documents, a few cherished books. I booked a flight to Geneva, a one-way ticket to a new life.

I told Mrs. Davies I was leaving, that I was no longer Mrs. Jackson. Her eyes widened, but she didn't question me. She just nodded, her face laced with a silent understanding.

I collected my divorce certificate, the official document a symbol of my liberation. I looked at the picture on it, two strangers, smiling stiffly. I barely recognized the woman in the photo, the one still clinging to a desperate hope.

At the airport, my phone rang. Holden. I looked at the screen, then simply switched it off. No more.

As the plane ascended, breaking through the clouds, I looked down at the city lights, shrinking into a distant glow. There was no sadness, no regret. Only a profound, exhilarating sense of peace. My future stretched before me, bright and unburdened. The past was a closed book, and Holden, and all the pain he represented, was finally behind me. I was finally, truly, free.

Chapter 8

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