The apartment was too quiet. No humming kettle, no soft strum of guitar strings from the guest room, no sarcastic comment about the weather that only Rylan could deliver with a smirk.
Just silence.
My fingers trembled as I unfolded the letter again, eyes tracing the words I'd already read too many times. They were etched into me now, like scars that refused to heal.
> "Ava,
Sometimes letting go doesn't mean you stopped loving someone. Sometimes, it means you love them too much to hold them back from who they truly belong to."
"I watched you fall apart and try to rebuild yourself. And every time you smiled through the pain, I wished I could be the reason behind your happiness—not the bandage you used to heal."
"But I know now. I was never meant to stay in your story forever. I was the soft interlude, not the grand finale."
"You looked at him like you were remembering how to breathe."
"And I... I just want you to breathe again, Ava."
"So this is me... stepping away. Not because I want to, but because I have to."
"Goodbye, my impossible girl."
—Rylan Vale"
I clutched the page to my chest, knees drawn up to my chest as I sat on the floor of my bedroom. Tears streamed freely now, soaking into my collar. I didn't cry like this even when Damien left.
Because this wasn't just someone walking away.
This was someone who stayed when I had nothing, and still believed in me.
And I had let him believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be more. Even when my heart was still bleeding for someone else.
I was selfish.
I was broken.
And now, I was alone.
A knock at the door startled me. I didn't move. The second knock was more hesitant—like whoever stood behind it was unsure if they even deserved to be there.
I opened the door slowly.
Damien.
Wearing the same black coat from the night he took a stand against his father. Eyes bloodshot. Voice low.
"I saw the news," I whispered before he could speak. "About you… about what you did."
He nodded, lips parting, but no words came.
I stepped aside. He entered, slow and heavy, like he was walking through mud.
"I didn't do it for the media," he finally said. "I did it for you."
I sat across from him, the letter still clutched in my hand.
"You're too late," I whispered. "You always come back too late."
His jaw tensed. "I had no choice. My father—"
"I'm not talking about Canada or your father, Damien," I interrupted. "I'm talking about me. About every night I cried myself to sleep when you disappeared. About every time I begged the universe for a sign you even cared."
His breath hitched. "I never stopped loving you."
"I know," I said. "But sometimes... love isn't enough."
There was silence between us. A thousand words left unsaid. A thousand wounds left open.
Then Damien reached forward, eyes full of torment. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this."
I looked at him, really looked—and for the first time, I saw the boy I once loved and the man he had become. Vulnerable. Wounded. Trying.
But I also saw Rylan.
Rylan's crooked smile. Rylan's quiet comfort. Rylan's unconditional love.
"He left," I whispered. "He left because he knew I didn't love him the same way he loved me."
Damien's expression cracked.
And mine? Mine shattered.
Because I realized in that moment... I wasn't whole enough for either of them.
"I need time," I said softly.
Damien nodded.
But before he left, he said just one thing.
"I'll wait. Even if it takes another ten years."
When the door closed behind him, I dropped to the floor again.
And I finally sobbed.
Not because of Damien.
Not because of Rylan.
But because for the first time... I didn't know who I was without either of them