Chapter 2

Ethan' s reply was simple and direct.

Where do you want to go? I' ll handle the rest.

I stood in the sterile silence of a bus station bathroom, staring at my reflection. The face looking back was pale, but the eyes were clear.

Europe. Somewhere quiet. My parents too.

Understood. I have a contact in Geneva who can arrange new identities. It will take a few days. Can you stay safe until then?

Yes.

I walked out of the station and took a taxi to my parents' house. The quiet suburban street felt like a world away from the fire and the screams that were seared into my memory. I had to convince them to leave everything behind based on a nightmare that only I knew was real.

My mother opened the door, her face breaking into a warm smile. "Ava! What a surprise, honey."

My father was in his study, surrounded by books on astrophysics. They were brilliant, gentle souls who believed in the fundamental goodness of the universe. They couldn't comprehend a man like Liam.

I didn't tell them about the fire. I didn't tell them about seeing them die. I told them a modified truth.

"Liam is in trouble," I said, my voice steady. "The people he works with, they're dangerous. He's made threats. We're not safe here. We have to leave. Tonight."

They saw the terror in my eyes, the real terror I couldn't hide. It was enough. They didn't question me. They trusted me. Within an hour, they had packed small suitcases, their faces grim with a quiet understanding that their lives had irrevocably changed.

"We'll follow you anywhere, Ava," my father said, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch was warm, real. I almost broke.

While they packed, I sat at their kitchen table and called my lawyer. Then, I called Liam. He answered on the first ring.

"I'll sign the papers," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion.

There was a pause. "Good," he said. "I'll have them messengered over."

"No," I said. "I'm coming to you. I want to do this in person."

I needed to see him one last time. I needed to look him in the eye and show him that he no longer had any power over me.

His office was the same as it was in my memory of that first, terrible day. He sat behind his large mahogany desk, the divorce papers laid out neatly in front of him. He didn't stand when I entered.

"I'm glad you came to your senses," he said.

I didn't respond. I walked to the desk, picked up the pen, and signed my name on every line he had marked. My signature was clean and firm. I remembered all the love letters I had written him, my hand flowing with adoration, my heart full. I had spent years trying to be the perfect wife, the sophisticated partner to his raw power, trying to fill the emotional void inside him with my devotion. It had all been a waste.

I pushed the signed papers across the desk toward him. Our eyes met. I expected to see triumph, or relief. Instead, his gaze was intense, searching. It was as if he was looking for a crack in my composure, a sign of the broken woman he expected to see. He found nothing.

"Is that all?" I asked, my voice cool.

He seemed taken aback by my coldness. "There's the check."

"I don't want your money," I said. I turned and walked out of his office without another word. The door clicked shut behind me, a final, definitive sound.

That night, I went through the box of memories I kept in my closet. It was filled with his letters from deployment, dried flowers from our first date, photos of us smiling on vacation. In my first life, I had clung to these objects, proof of a love I thought was real.

Now, they were just paper and dead plants.

I took the box to the fireplace in my empty house. I lit a match and dropped it in. The flames caught quickly, curling the edges of the photographs, turning his words of hollow affection into black, floating ash. I watched until everything was gone. I felt no sadness, only a profound, chilling sense of release.

The next morning, my parents and I drove to a small, private airfield an hour outside the city, following Ethan' s detailed instructions. A small jet was waiting for us. Ethan was there, his face etched with worry.

"Everything is arranged," he said, handing me a thick envelope. "New passports, new identities. You'll be safe."

He hugged me tightly. "What happened, Ava?"

"You don't want to know," I said. "Thank you, Ethan. For everything."

As we boarded the plane, my phone buzzed. It was a blocked number. I almost ignored it, but some instinct made me answer.

"Where are you, Ava?"

It was Liam. His voice wasn't cold or flat anymore. It was tight, strained. There was something raw in it, something that sounded like desperation.

"I'm gone, Liam," I said. "You got what you wanted. A clean break."

"I went to the house," he said, his words coming faster now. "It's empty. Everything's gone. The divorce papers... I saw them on the counter. Where did you go?"

"Goodbye, Liam."

"Wait!" he yelled, and for the first time, I heard pure, unfiltered panic in his voice. "Ava, don't hang up. I need to know you're safe."

The absurdity of it was staggering. The man who had orchestrated my torture and my parents' murder was worried about my safety.

"Why?" I asked, the single word hanging in the air.

"I don't know," he whispered, and the confusion in his voice sounded real. "I just... need to know. They're talking about a court-martial. I don't care. I'll face it. I'll face anything. Just tell me where you are."

He was consumed by an inexplicable grief, a destructive devotion that had finally turned back on itself. The love he had tried to bury, the connection he had tried to sever with such violence, was echoing in the void he had created.

But it was too late. I was no longer the woman who would try to heal him.

I ended the call and switched off the phone. The jet's engines whined as we began to taxi down the runway. I looked out the window as the ground fell away, leaving behind the ashes of my old life. My parents were safe beside me. That was all that mattered now.