"I've been patient for two years." My voice is flat. Cold. "I'm done being patient. Don't say that to no one. Or I'll kill you."
I push through the door.
The hallway stretches before me. Long. Empty. Mocking.
Someday I'll walk down this hall.
Someday soon.
Antonella
The suitcase lies open on my bed like a wound.
I stare at it. At the empty space waiting to be filled with pieces of my life. With everything I own that's worth taking to a stranger's house.
A stranger's bed.
I push that thought away. Focus on the task.
Clothes first.
I open my closet. The hangers scrape against the rod as I push through dresses I bought years ago. Before Mama got sick. Before Papa gambled away our future. Before I becamethe person who held this family together with nothing but stubbornness and prayer.
The green dress goes in. Mama always said it brought out my eyes.
The black one. Simple. Elegant. Good for funerals and meetings with dangerous men.
I pause at the red dress. Bought it for my twenty-first birthday. Never wore it. Never had anywhere to go.
It goes in the suitcase anyway.
Jeans. Sweaters. Blouses. I fold each piece carefully. Precisely. Like if I fold them perfectly enough, my life will somehow make sense.
It doesn't work.
The jewelry box sits on my dresser. Small. Wooden. Mama's initials carved into the lid. I open it and the hinges creak. Inside, her pearls rest on faded velvet. Her wedding ring. The gold earrings Papa gave her on their tenth anniversary.
I touch the pearls. Cool against my fingertips.
"I'm getting married, Mama," I whisper. "To a man I've never met. To save a family you worked so hard to build."
The pearls don't answer.
I wrap them in a silk scarf and tuck them into the corner of my suitcase.
The bathroom is next. I gather my skincare bottles. The expensive moisturizer I splurged on last year. The makeup I rarely wear because who has time for mascara when you're juggling creditors and grocery lists and a father who can't stop destroying everything he touches?
I pack it all. Every bottle. Every tube. Every small luxury I allowed myself in a life that offered so few.
A knock at my door.
"It's open."
Oliver walks in. His dark hair is messy. His eyes are soft with worry. He's wearing the leather jacket I bought him for his birthday three years ago.
"Hey." He stops in the doorway. Takes in the suitcase. The piles of clothes. The half-empty closet. "You need help?"
"I'm fine."
