ra

tions for Dante's account. It was a small, petty act of self-preservation, a dig

e. A message from her popped u

diamond necklace around her neck. His head was bent, his focus

as I typed a single-wor

art didn't even flutter. It was

d from a high school alumni group chat.

ourse-he was my guardian, there to "super

n at me with an expression so so

: Remember when we all thought they w

smissive reply: That was a long time ago. I had no desir

eamed of the fir

terrified child standing alone i

ace a cold, indifferent mask. He never took

ering if it would have been better if he'd

ntom limb, an ache for someth

ding on the few items I hadn't yet

r my thirteenth birthday. A sketchb

live with t

last trace of him-every gift, every memen

rtraits of his face a stark testament to my obsession. His sharp jaw, the in

e sketchbook and placed it on top of the

he crunch of tires on the gravel drive. His car. A moment

the suitcase and box by the

asked, his voice

risingly steady. "I'm moving into the dorms." The lie felt smo

icker of something unre

entire suitcase-the one filled with every gift he'd ever given m

a second glance. The final t

't even care what was inside. It was

e said, turning back to me, his auth

ain, trying to keep

didn't fight. I simply met his gaze, my own completely em

n fighting a man who

growing up," he said, a note of detached coolness in his tone. "She nee

stand. He didn'

d. "I am an adult," I whispered to the empty space. "I will wal

through my social media accounts-Instagram, Face

d he knew, severing every digital

onfirmation button. This was it.

it without