Chapter 2Better to Part Like Strangers

By the time the pain subsided to a dull ache, the sky was already turning a pale grey.

I pulled an old tin box from beneath my bed, a secret I had guarded for a long time.

Inside were the small trinkets Declan had given me before he disappeared.

The stubs from our first movie date. We sat in the back row, and he'd secretly taken my hand in the dark. He had leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "Sarah, I promise I'm going to give you the best life. I'll give you everything."

A faded photograph of the ugliest cake imaginable. He had tried to bake it for my birthday himself. The frosting was lumpy, the fruit was sliding off one side. "It's one-of-a-kind, Sarah. Just for you." He hadn't had money for a fancy cake back then, so he'd spent the entire afternoon destroying the kitchen to make me one.

I stared at these relics, a familiar warmth spreading behind my eyes, but there was no hope left in my heart. For a year, during his absence, these things had been my lifeline. I’d look at them every single day, praying he was still alive somewhere, imagining how he would hold me and soothe my pain when he finally came home.

But when he came home, all he saw were sales contracts and an urn. He didn't want an explanation. He only believed the story he saw with his own eyes. He had decided I was a gold-digger who had stolen everything and left his mother to die.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open with a deafening crash. I jumped, and the photograph slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the floor.

Declan stood in the doorway, his face a thunderous mask. He reeked of whiskey, and his eyes held a vicious glint I'd never seen before. His gaze fell to the open box in my hands, then to the scattered tickets and the photo on the floor. The coldness in his eyes deepened into a glacial frost.

He strode into the room, snatched the tin box from my grasp, and slammed it onto the ground.

Its contents scattered across the dirty floor. The ticket stubs were crumpled, and he brought his heel down on the photograph, grinding it into the floorboards.

A sharp sting went through my chest as I watched my memories being destroyed. But my face remained a blank canvas. I just looked at him.

He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "What's this? Taking a trip down memory lane with this junk? Trying to make me feel sorry for you?"

Looking at his twisted, hateful face, I felt a strange sense of release. All the sweet memories that had been carved into my soul, the hope that had carried me through countless nights of despair—it was all a joke.

I shook my head slowly.

"None of this matters anymore. I just want you to leave me in peace for my final days."

Declan looked at me as if I'd told the world's most absurd joke and let out a harsh, barking laugh.

"Your final days? You really commit to the act, don't you? What's the endgame here, a big fat severance check?"

He looked down at me, his lip curled. "Name your price. How much will it take for you to get out of my house and out of my life? I'll give you enough to live comfortably for the rest of your miserable years."

I didn't answer him. I just slowly knelt and began to gather the scattered pieces of my past.