A decade.
A life built thread by thread.
Now unravelling.
“Carrie, watch her for me,” he murmured.
Carrie stood, ready to kill.
“Watch her?You want me to watch her for what—her safety or yours? Because if I were her, I’d rip your goddamn face off. And Blondie? I’d feed her to the god damn fucking pigs.”
“Whoa, not on her,” he rushed to say.
Of course he did.
“She’s not the villain, Carrie. Let it go.”
I stood, legs shaky.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I whispered, leaning in close enough to kiss the memory of us off his neck. “Because it was always supposed to be us. In this lifetime and the next.”
My voice cracked.
“And we made promises not just to each other. But to her.”
Our daughter.
Our perfect, fleeting miracle.
“This pain?” I added. “It’ll eat you alive. And one day I’ll be a stranger. But my eyes? They’ll always be your home.”
He held his breath.
I kissed his neck, slow and final.
Breathed him in one last time.
Grabbed my bag.
Carrie’s hand.
And walked.
But as I left, Ifelthis eyes on my back—burning, bleeding.
And it hit me.
We weren’t quite done.
Because how the hell could one soul keep walking when it hadn’t been split clean in two yet?
Thursday, I stayed home.
I didn’t go to the office.
Didn’t check emails.
Didn’t answer Carrie.
