~ ROSELLE ~

Even after Celeste leaves, after her soothing words and gentle embraces fade into memory, the ache in my chest remains. It’s a physical pain, that’s persistent, as though there’s a fist wrapped around my heart and someone is purposely squeezing the life out of me.

I lie in the darkness of our... his bedroom, listening to every sound that makes my breath catch; from the faint creak of the floorboards in the hallway to the distant click of a door closing. Each noise sends my pulse racing, my body tensing with the desperate hope that maybe he’s changed his mind and he’s coming back. Maybe he’s going to walk through that door, pull me into his arms, and tell me we can figure this out together.

Every passing minute crushes that hope a little more.

The hours stretch on like taffy, pulling and stretching, seemingly endless. I toss from one side of the bed to the other, unable to find a comfortable position. My mind won’t stop racing. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face, the devastation, confusion, and the heartbreak. I hear his voice asking what he did wrong, what he said that made me feel this way.

And I want to scream that he did nothing wrong. That this isn’t about him. That I’m the one destroying us because I’m too terrified to believe in the possibility of a happy ending.

I stare at the ceiling, tracing the intricate patterns in its design with my eyes, following the swirls and curves like they’re a map to some answer I desperately need. The silence of the room is suffocating. I miss the presence of his breathing beside me, the presence of his warmth.

At one point, around three in the morning, I think I hear footsteps in the hallway. My heart jumps into my throat. I sit up, listening intently, waiting for the sound of the door opening.

But it never does. Instead, there’s just more silence. More emptiness, and more proof that he’s honoring my request. He’s letting me go, just like I asked him to.

And it’s killing me.

I pull the blanket, which still smells like him, like vanilla and wood and chocolate up to my chin and allow myself to cry. Sobs that come from the deepest parts of my soul, from the places I’ve been trying so hard to protect.

This isn’t just sacrifice... this is me destroying my own life to save his, and I don’t know if it’s worth it.

The thought makes me cry even harder.

I think about what my life is going to look like without him. Two words; Cold and empty. A series of days that all blur together into nothing.

I’ll go back to Westbrook, back to the place that holds nothing but painful memories. I’ll rebuild myself alone, piece by piece, without the warmth of his hand in mine. I’ll sleep in strange beds and eat meals that taste like ash. I’ll smile for people who don’t deserve it and pretend that I’m fine when I’m anything but fine.

I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.

By the time the sun rises, I haven’t slept at all.

My eyes feel like they’re filled with sand. My throat is raw from crying. My body aches with a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of rest will fix. I look in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me. She’s gaunt, hollow-eyed, broken.

She’s the girl I was before Ronan found me, except now I know what it feels like to be loved, and losing it is infinitely worse than never having it at all.

I should pack my things.

But the truth is, I don’t have much to pack. Everything I’m wearing, everything I own, everything I have in this house was given to me by Ronan. The clothes in the closet. The shoes on the shoe rack, The jewelry on the dresser. It’s all his.

So what do I take? My shame? My broken heart? The memory of his kiss?

I’m still standing in front of the closet, paralyzed by indecision, when I hear a knock on the door.

My heart lurches. Could it be him?

But when I open the door, it’s not Ronan. It’s Nikolai, and his expression is grim. There’s concern etched into every line of his face, and his blue eyes are filled with disappointment and worry in equal measure.

"Good morning," he says quietly, and the gentleness in his voice almost breaks me all over again. "Ronan sent me to ask when you’re getting ready. He wants to know where you’re planning to stay."

The words hit me like a punch. He’s already thinking about logistics and preparing for my departure. He’s already accepting that I’m leaving.

But what else did I expect? I told him to let me go. I told him I didn’t want him. I told him I was leaving.

Of course he’s accepting it.

"I... I don’t know," I say quietly, my voice hoarse from all the crying. "I haven’t thought that far ahead."

Nikolai nods slowly, and he steps inside the room, closing the door behind him. His presence fills the space in a way that’s both comforting and unsettling.

"Ronan wants to provide for you," Nikolai says carefully. "He’s willing to rent you a place. Somewhere safe. He’ll cover all the expenses—rent, food, whatever you need. He just wants to make sure you’re taken care of."

The irony of it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. He’s still taking care of me. Even after I broke his heart, even after I destroyed him, he’s still trying to make sure I have what I need.

"He doesn’t have to do that," I say, shaking my head. "I can figure it out on my own."

"No, you can’t," Nikolai says, not unkindly. "And you know it. You have no resources, and no connections outside of this pack. If Ronan lets you walk out of here without support, you’ll be completely vulnerable."

He pauses, studying my face intently.

"So you need to take it. You need to accept his help. And honestly? If you two were actually married, you’d be getting alimony anyway. Consider this your settlement."

It’s a logical argument, practical and straightforward. And I know he’s right. But accepting Ronan’s help feels like a betrayal of the whole purpose of this separation. If I let him take care of me, then I’m still connected to him. I’m still dependent on him. I’m still letting him sacrifice for me.