Chapter 4 No.4

The countdown had begun. Three days until the flight to New York.

Elizebeth started severing the digital ties. She went through her social media, methodically untagging herself from old photos with Floyd. She changed her relationship status from "Engaged" to a blank space.

The next morning, a message popped up on her personal phone from Jaylah. A picture of her hand, a massive diamond ring on her finger, resting on top of Floyd's. The background was the rumpled sheets of a bed. The caption was simple: Woke up like this. So blessed. <3

Elizebeth stared at the image. In her past life, this would have sent her into a spiral of tears. Now, she felt a distant, clinical numbness.

She typed back a single word. Congratulations. Then she blocked Jaylah's number.

That night, she dreamed she was back in the hospital. Floyd was still in his coma. In the dream, he opened his eyes. "I heard you, Elizebeth," he whispered. "You brought me back."

She woke up with tears on her cheeks. The warmth of the dream evaporated, leaving a bitter residue. It was a dream of a man who never existed. The real man had woken up and systematically dismantled her.

She spent the rest of the day packing, dividing her belongings into two piles: things to take, and things to leave behind. She was bagging up a stack of old art magazines when Floyd appeared at her door. He looked at the boxes, the half-empty room. A frown creased his forehead.

"What's all this?"

"Just some spring cleaning," she lied smoothly.

He picked up a small, chipped ceramic bird from the 'leave' pile. She had bought it at a street market on their first anniversary.

"You're throwing this out?" he asked, his voice tight.

"It's just an old thing," she said, not looking at him. "It's broken."

He stared at the bird in his hand, then at her. "It doesn't matter if it's broken. I gave it to you."

He wasn't seeing a memory; he was seeing a possession being discarded. It wasn't about the bird. It was about his choice being rejected.

"I don't want it anymore," she said simply.

He looked at her, his eyes dark and searching, as if trying to find the adoring girl who used to hang on his every word. She wasn't there.

He placed the bird back on the pile, his movements stiff.

"The party is tomorrow night," he said, changing the subject. "Jaylah has a dress for you to wear."

He didn't ask if she was coming. He commanded it.

"I'll be there," she said.

It would be her final performance. Her farewell to this house, to this life, to him. And he would never even see it coming.