Chapter 3Better to Part Like Strangers

The movie stubs were torn. The photograph was cracked.

I picked up the fragments, one by one, and placed them back into the dented tin box.

The pain in my lungs flared again, sharper this time. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see me cough.

Declan watched me, his frown deepening. "What game are you playing now, Sarah? Do you think this pathetic display will make me pity you?"

"You know exactly what you did!" he roared. "It was always about the money, wasn't it? Is money really that important to you?"

I ignored him, continuing my quiet task.

Suddenly, he lunged forward and kicked the box out of my hands.

"Stop picking up that trash! It should have been thrown out years ago."

I looked up at him, my voice eerily calm. "Declan, you win."

"You succeeded in making me love you, and you succeeded in making me fall out of love."

He froze, clearly not expecting those words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "What did you say?"

I pushed myself to my feet, the pain so intense I couldn't stand up straight. I remained hunched over, my body trembling.

"I won't ask you for another penny. I won't cling to you. And I won't play the victim anymore."

"I just want to leave. Quietly."

Declan’s expression shifted. "Leave? Where do you think you're going?"

A small, tired smile touched my lips. "Anywhere is better than here. As long as it's not in the Blackwood house. As long as it's not near you."

"I'd rather be a nobody in a town where no one knows my name. I'd rather lie on the side of the road than stay by your side for another minute."

He stared at me, a flicker of something—was it panic?—in his eyes. His tone changed abruptly. "You think you can just walk out of here? The gates to this house aren't a revolving door."

I didn't reply. I just slowly turned away from him.

The wind outside howled, whipping my hair around my face, but I felt lighter than I had in years. I knew I might not make it out of the Blackwood estate. I knew my body was failing. But I didn't care anymore.

When your heart is dead, what's the difference between living and dying?

The burning in my lungs became unbearable. A cough escaped my lips, then another. The metallic taste of blood filled my throat. I pressed a hand to my mouth, but it was too late. A violent spasm wracked my body, and I coughed up blood onto the floor.

Declan saw the crimson drops. His pupils constricted in shock. "You're coughing up blood?"

I didn't turn around. "It's nothing," I whispered.

He rushed forward, reaching for my arm. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I recoiled from his touch, my voice barely audible but sharp as a razor. "Don't touch me, Declan. Don't you dare touch me."

"You're filthy."

His hand froze in mid-air. The panic in his eyes was undeniable now.

"Are you… are you really sick?"

I didn't answer. I just gathered my few belongings.

"I have to go."

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and the blood on the floor. Just then, Tiffany pranced into the room, her little dog trotting at her heels.

In that moment of his indecision, I walked out.

A friend found me a small place to stay. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the time I had left.

I started writing my will. I had nothing of value to leave, just a few words I needed to say.