Saturday morning, May 21st. I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs.
For a moment, I was disoriented, the pale light of Emma's bedroom unfamiliar, the soft sounds of Manchester morning traffic filtering through the curtains. Then it hit me. Today was the day. The day I said goodbye.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and padded into the living room. My bags were already packed, standing by the door like silent sentinels, a stark reminder of the life I was leaving behind and the one that was waiting for me.
Two suitcases, one backpack. Everything I owned that mattered. In one week, I'd be in London for good, starting a new chapter in a city that felt like a different planet. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
I stood there in the grey morning light, staring at those bags, and felt the weight of it all pressing down on me. This was real. This was happening.
