Chapter 6

Amelie POV:

The drive back from the hospital was a blur. Alex' s words echoed in my head, a cruel, relentless litany.

Draining. Dramatic. Like walking on eggshells.

He had taken my deepest griefs, the sacred wounds I had shown only to him, and presented them to her like a party favor. He had wept with me after my mother' s funeral, holding me all night, promising to be the one person who would never leave. He had promised to build a fortress of a life around me, a place where I would finally be safe.

Now, he was using the bricks of that fortress to stone me.

My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. My hands clenched the steering wheel, my knuckles white. The city lights smeared into streaks of neon pain. I felt a panic attack clawing its way up my throat, a familiar monster from my teenage years.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, the sharp, metallic taste of blood a grim anchor in the swirling chaos. Just get home. Just get home.

Back in the empty house, I swallowed one of the emergency anti-anxiety pills my doctor had prescribed. The chemical calm washed over me slowly, dulling the razor edges of the pain, leaving me exhausted and hollow.

I found the box I had packed for Alex and added the wooden bird my father had given me. It was the last piece of my past. He could have it all.

I arranged for a courier to pick it up the next day. A clean break.

My phone rang. It was Mark, the real estate agent. "Good news, Amelie! We have a cash offer, full asking price. They want to see the place in an hour. It' s a young couple, getting married next month."

"Fine," I said. "I' ll be here."

The couple was sweet, their hands intertwined, their eyes full of shared dreams. They walked through the house, pointing out details, imagining their future in the spaces where mine had just crumbled.

"The light in here is incredible," the woman said, her eyes shining.

"This will be our forever home," the man whispered, kissing her temple.

The words didn' t hurt. I felt a strange sense of peace. I wanted this house to be a place of happiness for someone. I wanted it to fulfill the promise it had broken for me.

Before they left, I walked over to the mantelpiece where my father' s bird had once sat. I had packed it, but in its place was another small carving, a sleek, modern whale Alex had bought for me from a gallery years ago.

"A little something to keep your bird company," he' d said, smiling.

I picked it up and handed it to the woman. "A housewarming gift," I said.

She was delighted. "Oh, we couldn' t!"

"Please," I insisted. "I don' t need it anymore."

The next day, the money from the sale hit my bank account. It was a staggering sum. Enough to disappear. Enough to start over a hundred times.

I checked into a sterile, anonymous hotel near the airport. For a few days, I lived in a quiet limbo. I ordered room service, watched old movies, and slept. The quiet in my head was a blessing. I felt the ghosts of Alex and Kalie fading, their power over me diminishing with every passing hour.

And then, the day before my final treatment, he called.

I almost didn' t answer. But some morbid curiosity made me press the green button.

"Amelie! Where the hell are you?" His voice was sharp, angry. "You need to get to the hospital. Now."

"Why?" I asked, my voice calm. The ECT had done its work; the Pavlovian response of anxiety at his anger was gone. I knew, from the notes I had written to myself, that he was my ex-fiancé. I knew he had betrayed me with the girl my father had left in my care. But the knowledge was academic, a story about someone else. The emotional charge was gone.

"It' s Kalie," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "She tried to kill herself."