et separating them. It was their seventh wedding anniversary. A bottle of expensive wine Liam had brought home sat between them, unopened. The only sounds were the soft clinks of thei

ound unnaturally loud in the q

lice of meat she was cutting. She didn't look up

lines a comfort to her. She heard the front door open and close. Liam was home late from the hospital, as usual. His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood floor, a tired rh

door click shut down the hall. She let out the breath she was holding, a small, shaky thing. A faint scent, not his usual antiseptic hospital smell, but a sweet, fl

le looked back at her. Ethan. His eyes were kind, full of a warmth that she still felt, even all these years after he was gone. She traced the line of

er arm linked through his, both of them smiling at the camera. She was a nurse he' d met on a medical mission overseas. He remembered the chaos, the heat, the feeling of saving a l

"We'll give it seven years," Liam had said, his voice flat, professional. "For the family's sake. After that, we go our separate ways. No emotional attachments, no interference in e

el suffocating. Last week, a friend who had moved to London described her new life, the vibrant city,

of hope in Ava's mind, a possibility she hadn't allowed herself to consider for years. That night, she had stayed up late, re

e navigated to the folder labeled "New Life." Inside was a sing

ssets. Just a clean break. She attached the file to an email addressed to her lawyer, the su

, a continent away. They both had escape plans, moving on parallel tracks, destined to finally diverge. A