Chapter 6

After that night, it was like a glass wall went up between Elena and Dante.

They stopped eating together.

Elena stopped waiting up.

When they passed each other in the living room, she’d look away—like one word from him would contaminate her.

Dante noticed. Of course he did.

More than once he came home to see her packing.

Closet open. Drawers emptied. A suitcase half-open on the floor.

He wanted to ask what she was doing.

But then he’d remember that cold, blank look—

and swallow it.

One time he tried to act casual.

“Movie this weekend?”

Elena didn’t even lift her head.

“I have something to do.”

Three light words.

A locked door.

After a while, they didn’t even bother pretending. They just stopped talking.

Elena was packing for real.

Australia was coming up. Her start date was close.

Before she left, she wanted an ending.

Even if it was just… clean.

She printed divorce papers and put them on the desk in the study.

Then she texted Dante twice:

“Come home early tonight. I need to talk.”

Dante paused when he saw it.

She almost never reached first. Something in him eased. He replied fast.

“Okay. I will.”

That night—

he broke it.

Six. Seven. Eight. Ten.

The food on the table went from hot to warm to cold to dead.

At eleven, her phone finally lit up.

Dante: “Emergency family meeting. I have to handle things outside tonight. Whatever it is, we’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep early.”

Elena stared at the message for a few seconds.

It was such a lazy lie.

And he really thought she’d still believe him.

She didn’t call him out. She just replied with one word:

“Okay.”

Then she opened social media.

And there it was—top post.

Bianca smiling bright.

On her hand: a diamond ring flashing so hard it hurt your eyes.

In the window reflection, half a man’s silhouette—sharp suit, familiar build.

Dante.

The Dante who said he was “in a meeting.”

The Dante who swore he’d never lie to her.

Elena let out a small, bitter laugh and looked at the divorce papers on the desk.

Then she reached out—

crumpled them into a ball—

and tossed them in the trash.

Pointless.

They couldn’t even end things properly.

Fine.

No divorce certificate needed anyway.

Maybe that was his last “gift” to her.

Elena didn’t wake anyone.

She grabbed the suitcase she’d already packed, closed the door quietly, and left the house she’d lived in for six years.

The hallway’s motion-sensor light turned on with her steps—

then slowly went dark again—

like it was seeing her off.

The night was thick.

Streetlights cast a weak yellow glow, stretching her shadow long and thin.

She flagged a taxi and gave the driver the airport.

As the car moved, the city outside slid backward fast.

Just like the last six years—

there had been sweet moments, warm moments—

but in the end, they stayed behind her.

And they would stay there.

The airport lights grew brighter.

Elena exhaled for the first time in days.

Whatever.

The dream was over.

Time to move forward.