Chapter 6 No.6

The walk in the rain was a foolish act of defiance, and her compromised body was now paying the price. A deep, rattling cough shook her small frame as she curled up in the sterile hotel room, feverish and weak, swallowing the bitter pills Callum had prescribed.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Callum.

"The jet is ready. We leave tomorrow at 5 PM. Thought you should know, that's right in the middle of his engagement party."

A grim, fitting coincidence. Her departure, his celebration. Two lives, finally, irrevocably diverging.

The next morning, she returned to the house one last time. It was empty, echoing with the ghosts of yesterday. The movers had taken her boxes. She did one last sweep, making sure nothing, not a hairpin or a stray note, was left behind.

In the corner of the master bedroom, her eyes fell on the small, wooden chest that held her childhood treasures. Dried flowers, old letters, a faded photograph of her and her parents. She picked it up and carried it out to her waiting car. She would not leave a single part of herself for him to desecrate or discard.

Just as she was closing the trunk, Brady's car pulled into the driveway. He got out, staring at her.

"I thought you were gone."

"Just getting the last of my things," she said, her voice cool.

He glanced at the empty house, then back at her. "So that's it? You're just leaving?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

She looked at him, the man she had loved for so long. There was one last thread to cut.

"Brady," she said, her voice soft. "For my birthday next week... could you come have dinner with me? Just once. For old times' sake."

It was a test. A final, foolish plea to the boy who had promised to protect her.

He stared at her as if she were insane.

"My god, Karissa, are you that desperate? It's over. I'm with Hettie now. My life is with her. Why would I spend your birthday with you? We have nothing to celebrate."

His refusal was absolute. Cold. Clinical.

It was exactly what she needed to hear.

"You're right," she said. "How silly of me."

She got into her car and drove away without looking back.

Later that evening, as the city lit up for his party, she received a text from an unknown number.

It was Brady. He must have gotten her new number from the office.

"Where are you?"

She didn't reply.

Another text came through. And another.

"Karissa, pick up."

"I need to talk to you."

The phone rang. It was him. She let it go to voicemail.

A new message appeared. A garbled, slurring voice message. He was drunk.

"K'rissa... I... I'm sorry..."

She listened, her heart still.

Then, his voice shifted, becoming tender, desperate. A name slipped from his lips, a name that was not hers.

"...Hettie... don't leave me, Hettie..."

He had called her, but he was thinking of another woman. In his drunken stupor, in his moment of supposed apology, she was just a stand-in. A substitute.

Karissa let the phone fall from her hand.

It shattered on the floor, the screen going black.

Just like her heart.