Chapter 29
Jul 4, 2025
The house echoes with the sound of boxes. The kind of hollow sound that only comes when something is ending. Tape tears through cardboard like a warning. Drawers slam. Dust stirs in corners no one’s looked at in years. Each item I pack feels like a version of myself I’m folding away—neatly, carefully, and permanently.
My mom and I load them into a borrowed SUV — it’s old, but it runs. The backseat is already filled with my books, a lamp, a dented suitcase of sweaters I’ll probably never wear again. I don’t say much. Neither does she. Our silence isn’t angry—it’s understood. There’s nothing left to explain. Not after the line I drew at that table.
We pack clothes. Books. A single frying pan. My mom hands it to me like it’s sacred.
“Non-stick,” she says with a smile that almost hides the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t let anyone convince you to cook eggs in anything else.”
I laugh, but it breaks in the middle. She presses a hand to my cheek and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, her voice barely above a whisper. “You sure about this?”
“I have to be,” I say.
“Then I am too.”
Everything I used to be fits inside six mismatched boxes. A whole life, reduced to what matters and what doesn’t. I tape the last one shut and press both palms flat on the lid like I’m sealing a promise.
This is mine now. My story. My beginning. No more curtsying to the past.
Grayson waits outside. Jeans. Hoodie. No smirk. Just him. His hair is still damp from the rain. He stands by the SUV like he’s been there for hours, even though I know he just pulled up. His eyes scan me—not in judgment, not in pity—just searching. Like he wants to make sure I’m still here. Still real. Still choosing him.
My mom walks up to him, her steps slow but firm. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t smile. She stops inches from him, crosses her arms, and lifts her chin.
“You hurt her again, I’ll bury you.” Her tone is even, calm. But deadly.
He blinks, surprised by her bluntness, then nods. “Fair,” he says. “But I won’t.”
His voice is soft, certain. No bravado. No armor. She studies him in silence for a moment that stretches too long.
“See that you don’t,” she murmurs, then walks away without another word.
We load the last box. Grayson reaches for it before I can.
“I’ve got it,” he says, taking it from my hands with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten.
“I’m not fragile,” I mutter, more out of habit than pride.
“I know,” he says. “But I still want to carry some of the weight.”
He hoists the box into the trunk and closes it carefully. Like what’s inside matters. Like I matter.
There’s no grand farewell. No dramatic soundtrack. Just the sun peeking through the clouds for the first time in days and the quiet knowledge that everything is changing. I feel it in the air, in the way my skin chills even though my heart feels a few degrees warmer than it did yesterday.
He leans against the SUV, arms crossed, watching me.
“How are you feeling?”
I glance at the half-empty porch behind me. “Like I just divorced my childhood,” I say.
He tilts his head. “Was it a messy breakup?”
“Messier than I expected,” I admit. “But it was time.”
He nods slowly, like he understands exactly what that costs. “You’re brave, you know that?”
“I’m tired,” I say. “But yeah… maybe a little brave too.”
I step closer to him. The wind stirs the edges of my jacket. His eyes flick to my mouth, then back to my eyes. He doesn’t move first. He waits. Like he always does now. Like he’s learning. Like he’s letting me decide.
I kiss his cheek. Just a brush of lips. Gentle. Warm. Mine. And for the first time, I feel like I belong to myself.
