The silence after his words stretched long enough to strangle you.
"By the time I come back... you should be gone."
They clung to your chest like chains, heavy, merciless, final.
Your eyes had followed Adrian as he scooped Helena into his arms—the woman he once called his everything, the woman who returned from the dead to reclaim what you had thought was slowly becoming yours. He didn't even look back as he stormed out, his jaw set, his arms around her fragile frame as if you weren't even there.
The door slammed. The sound echoed in your chest like a gunshot.
And you were left in the master bedroom—the place he once swore you would share—not as his wife, not as his partner. But as the imposter. The intruder. The replacement.
Your body trembled, not from cold, but from the flood of memories clawing their way out of the dark corners of your mind.
The Spiral
Helena's voice lingered in your ears, cruel and soft, sharpened with venom:
"You were just my replacement. You will never be in his eyes."
Every word stabbed deeper than any whip or fist ever had.
Replacement.
Not chosen. Not wanted. Never real.
It was like the walls of the room collapsed in around you. You were back there again—the old mansion, the "main house," where you were shoved into corners, fed scraps, told every single day that your life was a mistake.
Your lungs seized as if your ribs were too tight.
Wasn't this what Adrian had promised on your wedding day? That he would make your life hell? Perhaps he hadn't needed to do anything at all. Perhaps you had been living in hell all along—simply waiting for Helena to come back and take her rightful place.
And you? You were disposable.
Packing to Leave
You moved mechanically, like a body without a soul.
Everything around you screamed his. The dresses, the shoes, the furniture. The photographs framed on the walls of you smiling beside him—pictures you had once stared at in disbelief because for a fleeting second you thought you belonged there.
One by one, you tore them down.
The glass cracked beneath your trembling hands, but you didn't flinch. You pulled each picture from its frame, your face, his arm around you, the faint softness in his eyes—you shoved them into the fireplace and watched as they curled into ash.
Tears blurred your vision, but you kept feeding the flames. Until every trace of you that had existed in this house was gone.
When it was over, only the crackle of fire filled the silence.
You wiped your face with the back of your hand and turned to the only things you had ever truly owned:
The oversized hoodie from years ago.
The frayed pants.
The old backpack you carried when you first came back to the city.
Everything else—every dress, every gift, every token of a life you had thought you were building with him—was his. You left them.
You wouldn't give Helena the satisfaction of thinking you'd stolen what belonged to her.
The Phone
Your phone sat on the desk, screen still lit faintly with messages from tutors, reminders from Ysabel, Adrian's number saved at the top like an anchor.
You stared at it for a long moment.
Then, without hesitation, you pried out the SIM card, left both on the desk, and turned away.
You didn't want to be found. Not by him. Not by anyone.
The Money
The divorce settlement had been more than enough to build a new life. House deeds, company shares, monthly alimony, investments. A fortune placed neatly into your lap.
But wealth felt like a cage, one crafted by the very man who had cast you aside.
So you withdrew it all. Every last cent.
Half went straight to charity—the children's foundations, orphanages, and shelters. Maybe somewhere out there, another girl like you, sleeping with dogs, starving quietly in silence, would eat because of it. Maybe some boy would get to go to school, hold a pencil, write his name. Things you had never been allowed.
The rest—you liquidated. Sold the shares, transferred the deeds, emptied the accounts.
When it was finished, you stood with only cash and your worn backpack.
And for the first time in years—you had nothing that tied you to him.
Nothing at all.
The Final Night
You stood in the empty study—the one Adrian had built just for you when you began your education. The room that had seen your first clumsy letters, your trembling math lessons, your brightest smiles.
The desk still smelled faintly of cedar and ink.
You traced your fingers over the wood, remembering his voice guiding yours as you scribbled letters, his rare smirk when you solved something on your own. For a second, you almost broke. For a second, you almost wanted to believe it had been real.
But Helena's voice hissed louder:
"You'll never be in his eyes."
And Adrian's words sealed it:
"By the time I come back... you should be gone."
Your chest clenched, but no more tears came. You were beyond crying now.
"I'm back to where I was," you whispered into the silence. "In the dark corner."
You tightened the straps of your old backpack, pulled the hood over your golden hair, and walked out of the estate without looking back.
The Empty House
When Adrian returned from the hospital, weary, guilt-ridden, and angry all at once, the house was silent.
Too silent.
He called your name. Once. Twice.
No answer.
He walked into your study—empty. The walls bare, the desk stripped, the fireplace cold with ash.
Your room—empty. The closet gutted. The bed neatly made.
The phone sat on the desk, your SIM card resting beside it. No notes. No goodbye.
Just absence.
And then he saw the papers on the counter—the confirmation of cashed-out accounts, the donation receipts, the sale transfers.
Gone.
All of it.
You had erased yourself from his world as thoroughly as you had once erased yourself from your family's.
Adrian's chest seized as he realized—
This time, you hadn't been taken from him.
This time, you had left.
And he was the one who had pushed you out.