The key sat in my hand, small and warm. I stared at it too long. If I kept it on my ring, I’d find excuses to come back. Grab a forgotten sweater. Water the plant I’d already killed. Touch the life I’d just agreed to abandon.
I crouched, opened the narrow drawer built into the hall table, and placed the key inside. It landed without a sound. I pushed the drawer closed with my fingertips as gently as if loudness might undo everything.
The hallway smelled faintly of old carpet and someone’s dinner two floors down. Normal things. Safe things. My chest tightened anyway.
I straightened, fixed my grip on the suitcase, and forced myself toward the elevator. Each step felt like I was peeling away something I wouldn’t get back. The elevator doors slid open with a low groan, the metal interior waiting like a mouth.
I stepped inside and didn’t look back.
I set the suitcase against my leg and pulled my phone from my coat. The screen glowed in the dim hallway, bright enough to sting my eyes. I scrolled to the hospital number and pressed call before I could think.
The ring felt too loud in the empty space. I cupped a hand around the phone, as if that could muffle the truth sitting in my throat.
“Belle?” My father’s voice rasped through the speaker. Thin. Fragile in a way he tried to hide.
“I’m here.” I kept my voice low. “Everything’s handled.”
A beat of silence. Long enough for doubt to push at my ribs.
“You sure?” His voice cracked near the end.
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard and kept the sound out of the phone. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve got it under control.”
He cleared his throat, a rough scrape that made something in me twist. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I should’ve?—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. My fingers tightened around the phone until they tingled. “Rest. Let them take care of you for a bit.”
“You’ll visit tomorrow?”
“I’ll be busy for a while.” The words scraped on the way out. “But I’ll check in.”
“Oh.” His breath hitched. “All right then.”
I closed my eyes. If I listened any longer, I’d break. “Get some sleep.”
“I didn’t mean for any of this?—”
“I know.”
Silence stretched again, softer this time, like he waited for me to promise something I couldn’t offer.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I whispered.
Before he could answer, I ended the call.
The quiet snapped around me. My knees buckled, and I pressed my back to the wall, the phone dropping into my lap. Heat surged behind my eyes, then spilled over, fast and unchecked. I clutched the suitcase handle, held on tight, and cried until my breaths came ragged and thin.
Gideon filled the lobby, shoulders brushing the dim light, expression carved out of calm certainty. He didn’t look at the tear tracks on my cheeks. His gaze dropped to the suitcase at my side. One slow sweep. An assessment, not a question.
He reached for the handle.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t give permission.
