Chapter 2

The next morning, Ava felt a strange sense of calm. The decision to leave had settled something inside her. As she brushed her teeth, she caught her reflection in the mirror and saw a faint smile on her lips. It was the first time she had seen herself smile in a long time. The weight that had been pressing on her chest for seven years felt a little lighter. She was no longer just waiting for the end; she was actively moving toward a new beginning.

Later that day, Liam' s family was having a gathering at their large estate. It was an obligation, another performance Ava had to get through. As she stepped out of her car, she saw Sophia standing on the porch, talking animatedly with Liam' s mother. Sophia was holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. When she saw Ava, her smile tightened. She walked over, her steps a little too quick, a little too purposeful.

"Ava," Sophia said, her voice sweet but with a hard edge. "I brought a gift for Liam's mother. It's a first-edition book she's been wanting." She held up the box, a clear display of her thoughtfulness, her place in this family. "What did you bring?"

The question hung in the air, a deliberate challenge. Ava knew this game. Sophia had been playing it for years, small, subtle digs designed to make Ava feel like an outsider. In the early years of the marriage, Sophia would 'accidentally' leave a lipstick in Liam's car or 'forget' a scarf at the house. They were little territorial markings, constant reminders to Ava of her true place-or lack thereof-in Liam' s life. Ava had never reacted, her indifference a shield that seemed to frustrate Sophia more than any angry outburst ever could.

"I didn't bring anything," Ava said simply, her voice even. She met Sophia's gaze without flinching. "My presence is the gift." She didn't have the energy for these games anymore. Not when freedom was so close. The seven years of quiet tolerance had worn her down to a core of pure exhaustion. She just wanted it to be over.

Liam came out onto the porch then, drawn by their voices. He saw the tension between the two women, a scene he had witnessed countless times. He put a hand on Sophia's arm. "Sophia, that's enough." Then he turned to Ava, his expression a mixture of apology and weariness. He started to raise his hand, perhaps to touch her shoulder, but he let it drop, a familiar, aborted gesture of comfort. It was a habit, this half-move, a symbol of the space he always kept between them.

Suddenly, a scream came from the kitchen. Liam' s mother had been taking a pot of boiling soup off the stove and had stumbled, splashing the hot liquid all over her arm. Liam, the trauma surgeon, immediately switched into professional mode. He rushed into the kitchen, his voice calm and authoritative, giving orders.

Sophia followed close behind, her face a mask of concern, eager to be helpful. Ava stood back, watching from the doorway. She saw the raw, red burn on her mother-in-law's arm. She saw Liam's focused expression as he worked. And she saw Sophia, hovering at his side, handing him gauze, their hands brushing. They looked like a team. For a moment, Ava felt nothing at all, just a detached observer watching a scene from someone else's life.