"I will wait," I vow, my voice a raw promise. "As long as you need. I’ll wait."
I pull back. I kiss her forehead. A chaste, heartbreaking press of my lips that is pure promise and pure pain.
And then I do the hardest thing I've ever done.
I turn. And I walk away.
Chapter 27
TWO SIDES, SAME PAIN
Some need healing, some need vengeance
Della
“That takes immense courage, Della.” Dr. Davis’s voice is calm, a steady anchor through the phone. “Choosing the pain of separation over the comfort of Dorian’s protection is a huge step toward claiming your own power. Are you allowing yourself to feel the grief of that hard decision?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my free hand gripping the armrest of the wicker chair I’m sitting in.
“I am. Grief and guilt, all together.” My voice comes out thick, betraying the tears I’m holding back. “It’s… hard. I don’t think I’ve ever cried this much… only because the night has the color of his eyes and the pillow still smells like him. Or when the phone buzzes.”
“What are your feelings regarding his messages?” She asks gently.
“At first, I felt pushed, pressured. The flowers, the chocolate, the everyday poems felt like ‘Come back sooner.I can’t wait anymore’.But now,” I pause. “I understand. It's not a demand. It's a promise. His way of keeping hope and saying ‘I'm here. I will wait.’“
I swallow, the resolve hardening in my chest.
“But I have to hold the line."
"You're holding the line beautifully," Dr. Davis affirms. "That's the difference between this time and five years ago. You aren't runningfromfear; not hiding. You’re moving toward yourself—uncovering every feeling. And this is great, Della. Now, tell me. What's the immediate goal for this week?"
"To get through a day without checking his last text,” I say, the confession feeling small but heavy. “And... to go on that trip with Silvia. To actuallybethere and enjoy it.”
"That's an excellent goal. We start small, Della. We start with distance and self-focus, and we rebuild the foundation, brick by safe brick. Enjoy your travel, and we'll talk next week."
I end the call and slip the phone onto the small table, finally letting out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding for an hour.
I’m sitting on Silvia’s porch, infusing with sun rays and listening to the ocean waves.
My body still aches in some places—a constellation of bruises from Leah’s men, the sharp sting of the cut on my arm, and… the hollow place where I used to feel the warm ruby.
Dorian left. Five days ago. I stayed.
The screen door slides open, and Silvia steps out with her hair in a messy top-knot and holding one cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. She hands me the juice and flops into the wicker chair opposite.
"Okay," she says, her voice bright with a manufactured energy I've come to recognize. She's been a fortress of strength for me, but I've seen the circles under her eyes. She needs this break as much as I do.
"Okay, what?" I ask, taking a sip from the juice.
"Okay, I did it," she says, a slow, real smile spreading across her face. "I just got off the phone with my supervisor. I cashed in every vacation day, every sick day, and, yeah, I may have faked a small, very convincing sob, for effect. I’m on leave. We both are."
"Silvia, you didn't have to—"
"Shut up. I wanted to," she says, waving her hand. "And... I booked the flights."
I blink, faking surprise.
"You are fast, Chiquita. Where?"
