Chapter 2Frozen Hearts Do Not Thaw

The next morning, I began to pack.

It wasn't a dramatic, noisy clean-out; I did it in quiet, deliberate increments. My passport and ID went into my shoulder bag. A few favorite novels were tucked into the bottom of my suitcase. I took our framed photos off the bookshelf and slid them between layers of sweaters.

Before heading out, Elliott passed the study and caught me.

"What are you doing?"

"Just putting away some winter clothes," I said.

He muttered an "okay," completely incurious, grabbed his keys, and left.

Once the front door clicked shut, I went to the living room and took down our wedding portrait.

In the photo, we were laughing, radiant. That was before Hannah's accident. Back when his eyes still lit up when he looked at me.

Hannah—Bella's older sister, and Elliott's childhood sweetheart.

Three years ago, she died instantly in a car crash. I was the last person to see her alive.

I had been right there when the car swerved. I reached out, tried to grab her coat, but she slipped right through my fingers. And Elliott had decided, from that moment on, that her death was my fault.

I tried to explain. Dozens of times. He never believed me.

Eventually, I stopped trying to argue and chose to prove my devotion through silence and presence instead. That winter, when he went on a self-destructive bender after the funeral, I searched the freezing city streets for him all night. I slipped on a patch of black ice, shattering my kneecap—an injury that would plague me for the rest of my life.

But to Elliott, it was nothing. In his mind, I owed Hannah a life, and no amount of sacrifice would ever balance the scale.

...

Around noon, my lawyer called.

"Norah, I want to confirm the division of assets. The condo, the cars, the savings accounts—you're legally entitled to half of everything."

"I don't want any of it," I said. "I just want it clean and fast."

The lawyer paused. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

I hung up and slid my packed suitcase into the deepest corner of the closet, draping a few heavy winter coats over it.

When Elliott came home that evening, I was sitting on the couch with the TV on.

He seemed to be in a good mood. He kicked off his shoes, walked over, and sat down right next to me.

Then, right in front of me, he pulled out his phone and sent Bella a voice note.

"Hey, Bella, I'll take you to your appointment tomorrow. Don't bother calling an Uber."

His voice was soft, the tone you’d use with a fragile child.

He was waiting for my reaction. I knew him too well.

Before, every time he flaunted his tenderness for Bella, my eyes would well up. I’d ask him, voice trembling, Why do you have to do this?

And he’d give me that cold, dismissive look and say, Bella is Hannah’s sister. It's my responsibility to look after her. If you didn't have a guilty conscience, why would it bother you so much?

It was his ultimate weapon. Using Hannah’s ghost to silence me.

But this time, I didn't even look up from the screen.

He waited a few seconds, put his phone away, and eyed me from the side.

"You're awfully quiet today."

"Just tired," I said.

He let out a dry chuckle, leaning back and crossing his legs.

I knew exactly what he was thinking. He thought I was playing a game, building up to a dramatic explosion.

He thought I would bring up divorce again, throw a tantrum, and then, after a couple of days of his cold shoulder, break down and beg him to stay. That was how it always went. He was confident. He thought if he ignored me long enough, I’d fall back into line.

In the long stretch of silence, I spoke up.

"Elliott."

"Yeah?"

"If I actually left one day... would you miss me?"

He turned to look at me, a confident, almost mocking smile playing on his lips.

"Could you actually bring yourself to?"

Those five words, tossed out so casually, as if the very idea of me leaving was a joke.

He was so sure of his hold on me. Sure that every threat of divorce was just a desperate plea for attention.

I glanced down at my phone. A notification was waiting on the screen:

Your transfer request has reached final review. Expected processing time: 1-2 business days.

I locked the screen and gave him a soft smile.

"Right. How could I ever leave?"

Satisfied, he turned back to the TV and flipped the channel, looking like a man who had easily won a battle he didn't even have to fight.

I stared at his profile and thought: Two days left.