Chapter 93

Angela POV

Morning sunlight filtered through Sophie's guest room curtains, casting unfamiliar shadows across my temporary bed.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I felt my heart stutter at the sight of Sean's name illuminating the screen.

"When will you come get your things?" His voice carried an edge I couldn't quite name-bitterness, perhaps, or regret.

"I'll stop by this afternoon," I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Unless that's inconvenient for you?"

"Do whatever you want." The line went dead before I could respond.

I pressed my fingers against my temples, fighting back the familiar ache that seemed to accompany every interaction with Sean these days.

The day ahead loomed large-Elizabeth was expecting my visit, and then there was the daunting task of packing up two years of married life into whatever pieces I could bear to take with me.

The hospital corridor stretched longer than usual as I made my way to Elizabeth's room. Her face brightened when she saw me, though I caught the concern shadowing her eyes.

"You look tired, dear," she observed, patting the space beside her bed. "Come, tell me about your day."

I settled into the familiar chair, sharing small stories about Sophie's cat knocking over a vase, about the barista who always remembered my order-anything except the truth weighing heavy on my chest.

Elizabeth listened with that knowing smile that had always made me wonder how much she really understood.

"You know," she said softly as her eyes began to drift closed, "sometimes the bravest thing we can do is admit when something isn't working." She squeezed my hand gently before sleep claimed her.

I sat there a moment longer, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest.

The sound of footsteps in the doorway made me turn-Sean stood there, his expression unreadable.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usual impeccable appearance seemed somehow diminished, as if he hadn't been sleeping well.

He opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again, whatever words he'd meant to say dying before they reached his lips.

It struck me as odd, seeing him like this. Shouldn't he be happy now? Free to be with Christina openly?

But then I remembered Victoria's stern disapproval, the way she'd made her feelings about Christina crystal clear. Perhaps that was the source of his obvious exhaustion-caught between his mother's expectations and his heart's desire.

Our eyes met briefly before I rose, slipping past him without a word.

That familiar citrus scent that always clung to him wafted between us, achingly intimate yet somehow foreign now.

The penthouse felt different now, though nothing had physically changed. Sarah greeted me with worried eyes and an offered cup of  a steaming cup. "Your favorite cinnamon apple tea, Mrs. Shaw. Or should I..." she trailed off, uncertainty coloring her voice.

"Thank you, Sarah." I accepted the cup with a small smile. "But Ms. Wilson is fine now."

I moved through the rooms with purpose, collecting only what I couldn't bear to leave behind-my mother's jewelry box, a few cherished books, the cashmere sweater I'd worn on cold mornings in the library.

Everything else could stay.

They were just things, after all, and I had no desire to strip the walls bare of my presence.

James, the building manager, approached me as I waited for the elevator. He held out an envelope with careful reverence.

"Mrs. Shaw," he said with his usual formal warmth, "I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to give you your Christmas gift early this year."

Inside the card was a delicate hand-drawn sketch of Sean and me, arms linked as we walked through the building's entrance. The detail was remarkable-the way Sean's hand rested protectively at my elbow, the slight tilt of my head as I smiled up at him.

A moment from happier days, captured in gentle pencil strokes.

"I've been working on it for a while," James explained, a hint of pride in his voice. "I hope you like it."

I smiled, carefully tucking the card into my bag.

"It's beautiful, James. Thank you." The words caught slightly in my throat, but I managed to keep my voice steady.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him that the couple in his drawing no longer existed, that the woman who smiled so trustingly up at her husband was already gone.

That card, I thought as the elevator doors closed between us, would probably be the only proof of my two-year marriage that I'd take with me.

Standing in what had been our bedroom one last time, I allowed myself a moment to remember: morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, quiet Sunday breakfasts on the terrace, the way Sean's cologne would linger in the air long after he'd left for work.

Two years of memories, both bitter and sweet, wrapped in silk and cashmere and Egyptian cotton.

Silent tears slid down my cheeks, blurring everything before me into a soft, indistinct haze of colors and shapes-as if the room itself was fading away, just like the life I had built here.

Sophie's apartment welcomed me back with the comfort of friendship and understanding.

"I think I need to leave for a while," I admitted as we sat in her cozy kitchen. "Not forever, just... until things settle."

"I know." Her eyes were soft with sympathy. "I've been expecting this conversation."

The knock at the door announced Christopher's arrival. He entered with his usual quiet grace, though something in his expression suggested news beyond a casual visit.

"I saw your father yesterday," he said without preamble. "He sends his love. And his understanding." He settled into a chair, his amber eyes meeting mine.

"He also mentioned that the villa in Tuscany is empty this time of year. If you're interested in a change of scenery."

Sophie busied herself with packing snacks for my journey, her movements betraying the emotion she was trying to hide.

"You'll need something for the flight," she insisted, tucking homemade cookies into a paper bag.

The city lights were just beginning to twinkle to life as Christopher's car pulled up to the airport terminal.

Sophie's embrace was fierce, her whispered "Call me, promise you'll call me" making my eyes sting with tears.

"I promise," I whispered back, holding my friend close one last time.

Standing at the gate, I turned for one final look at the city skyline. Somewhere out there, Sean was probably in his office, Christina by his side. Elizabeth was sleeping peacefully in her hospital room.

Sarah was perhaps already rearranging the penthouse to Sean's preferences. Life would go on, with or without my presence.

Christopher touched my elbow gently. "Ready?"

I squared my shoulders, adjusting my carry-on bag. The weight of my wedding ring was conspicuously absent from my left hand, but my steps felt lighter than they had in months.

"Yes," I said softly, "I think I am."

As the plane lifted into the darkening sky, I watched Manhattan's lights grow smaller until they were just a glittering carpet below.

Somewhere in that maze of light and shadow was the life I was leaving behind-the marriage that had started as a business arrangement and ended in heartbreak, the man I had learned to love despite myself, and the dreams I had carefully packed away with my winter clothes.

My hand drifted to my stomach, where our secret still grew, as I watched the city lights fade into the distance.

"Goodbye, New York," I whispered softly, my breath fogging the plane window. "Goodbye to everything that was."

Goodbye, Sean...