Chapter 2

The immigration office was cold and impersonal, filled with the quiet hum of computers and the rustle of papers. I sat straight in the plastic chair, answering the clerk's questions in a steady voice. Each answer, each signature, felt like a deliberate step away from the life I once knew. My hands were steady as I signed the final form, the one that would erase Eleanor Vance from every official record in this country. There was a sense of finality to it, a strange, hollow peace. It was done.

"The process will take a few weeks," the clerk said, stamping my file. "Your new passport and documents will be sent to the address you provided."

"Thank you," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I walked out of the building and into the bustling city streets, feeling like a stranger in my own skin.

The next few days were a blur of systematic erasure. I went back to the apartment, the one Liam and I had shared, to pack my things. He was never there, always with Sarah at the hospital or the new house he had apparently bought for her. The place was silent, filled with ghosts of a happy marriage.

I started in the bedroom. I took down the framed photos from the wall, pictures of us smiling on vacation, at our wedding, on lazy Sunday mornings. I looked at the face of the man in the photos, the man who had promised me forever, and felt nothing but a dull ache. I didn't smash the frames or tear the pictures. I simply stacked them neatly and placed them in a large black trash bag.

I went through the closet, pulling out all of Liam' s clothes, his suits, his casual shirts, his shoes. I folded them and packed them into boxes, which I labeled 'Liam' in black marker. I did the same with his books, his golf clubs, everything that belonged to him.

The hardest part was the small, personal things. The silly coffee mug I had bought him that said 'World' s Best Husband' . The collection of movie ticket stubs from every film we had ever seen together. The worn copy of his favorite book that he used to read to me. Each item was a memory, a small piece of the life we had built. I held each one for a moment, allowed myself a brief flicker of pain, and then placed it in the trash bag. I was not just cleaning a house, I was emptying my heart.

On the third day, as I was taping up the last box, the front door opened. Liam walked in, and he wasn't alone. Sarah was with him, leaning on his arm, her belly prominent under her expensive-looking maternity dress.

They both stopped when they saw me and the stacks of boxes. The air in the room grew thick with tension.

"Eleanor," Liam said, his voice strained. "What are you doing?"

"I' m moving out," I said simply, not looking at him. I focused on sealing the box with another strip of tape.

He let go of Sarah and took a step towards me. "We talked about this. It' s temporary. You don' t have to leave. I bought a new place for Sarah. She' ll stay there until the baby is born. This is still our home."

"No," I said, finally meeting his gaze. "It' s your home. I' m just getting my things out of your way."

Sarah, who had been quiet until now, let out a small, delicate cough. "Eleanor, please don' t make things difficult for Mr. Vance. He' s been under so much stress lately. We' re all just trying to do what' s best for the baby."

Her use of 'we' sent a fresh wave of coldness through me. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and triumph, a look that said she had won.

"I' m sure you are," I replied, my voice dripping with an irony I didn' t bother to hide.

I turned to leave, grabbing my suitcase, but Sarah suddenly cried out.

"Oh! My stomach!" She doubled over, her face contorted in pain. "Mr. Vance, it hurts!"

Liam rushed to her side instantly. "What' s wrong? Is it the baby?"

"I don' t know," she whimpered, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She... she glared at me. The stress... it must be the stress. The doctor said I need to stay calm."

I stood there, frozen in disbelief. She was actually blaming me for her fake stomach ache.

Liam turned to me, his face dark with anger. "Eleanor, what did you do? I told you she needs a peaceful environment! Can' t you just be cooperative for a little while? Is that too much to ask?"

His words, his unjust accusation, were the final straw. I was the one who had been betrayed, abandoned, and now I was being blamed for the manipulator' s theatrics.

He didn't even wait for my answer. He scooped Sarah into his arms, just like he had during the fire. "It' s okay, I' m here. I' ll take you to the hospital right now. Nothing will happen to you or the baby."

He carried her out of the apartment, leaving me standing alone amidst the boxes and the ruins of my life.

A sound escaped my lips, a dry, humorless laugh. My back still ached from the burn, my head still throbbed from the concussion, but he hadn' t asked about my pain once. His entire world now revolved around her and the child she carried.

I was nothing.

I picked up my suitcase and walked out the door without looking back. My past was now packed in boxes and trash bags, and I was ready to leave it all behind.