Goodbye, Christian
The nursery smelled of baby powder and fresh laundry.
Soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains, catching on the pale lavender blanket wrapped around Symphony.
Melody sat in the rocking chair, cradling her daughter for what she knew was the last time today, the last unrestricted time, ever.
Symphony was almost two months old now, chubby-cheeked and bright-eyed, tiny fingers curled around Melody’s index finger like she knew something was wrong. Melody pressed kiss after kiss to the soft curls, tears falling freely onto the baby’s head.
“My sweet girl,” she whispered, voice thick and breaking. “Mama loves you so much. You’re my whole world, do you know that? I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I have to go.”
Symphony cooed softly, blinking up at her with those big, trusting eyes.
Melody’s sobs deepened. She rocked harder, clutching the baby closer. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to leave you. You’re my baby. My baby…”
The door opened.
Christian stood there... coat off, sleeves rolled up, face hard again.
His voice was a low growl.
“Leave.”
Melody froze. Her arms tightened instinctively around Symphony.
She looked up at him, tears streaming, eyes pleading.
Christian stepped into the room. “Now.”
Melody’s breath hitched. Slowly, painfully, she rose from the chair. She kissed Symphony’s forehead one last time, long and lingering, then turned to Sally, who waited quietly by the crib.
She hesitated.
Her arms wouldn’t let go.
Sally stepped forward gently, arms outstretched.
Melody’s sob broke free again... raw, wrenching.
She placed Symphony into Sally’s waiting arms, fingers lingering on the tiny body as long as possible.
“Can we talk before I leave?” she asked, voice trembling so badly the words barely formed.
Christian stared at her.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then he turned on his heel.
“Follow me.”
Melody wiped her face with shaking hands. She looked back at Symphony then followed him out of the nursery.
The door closed softly behind them.
Sally stood alone with the baby, rocking her gently as the small cries began.
Down the hall, Melody walked behind Christian, steps slow, heart shattering with every one.
×××××××
Christian closed the study door behind Melody with a soft, final click. The room smelled faintly of leather and old books, the same scent it had always had, the same quiet that used to feel safe. Now it felt like a cage.
He moved to his desk, leaning against the edge, arms crossed. His face was closed again... cold, distant, the softness from earlier gone like smoke.
“Speak,” he said.
Melody stood a few feet away, ball cap still low, hands clenched at her sides. Tears streaked her face, but her voice came out steady, trembling only at the edges.
“I know you hate me,” she said. “I know everything you’re doing, everything you’ve done, is to punish me. To make me pay for what you think I did to Ashton.”
She took one small step closer.
“I hope you learn the truth soon. About what your brother actually was.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “You have no right to speak of my brother.”
“Your idol,” she continued, voice quiet but cutting. “Your hero. Your anchor. That’s how you remember him. You know how I remember him?” She let out a bitter scoff. “A spoiled motherfucker who harassed me. Who only wanted one night with me and nothing more.”
Christian straightened, face darkening. He stepped toward her. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The truth.” Her voice cracked on the word. “Christian… I hope it breaks you when you finally learn it.”
He moved fast, hand shooting out to grab her jaw, fingers firm but not bruising. He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Is this a new lie?” he growled. “Do you even hear yourself?”
“It’s not a lie.” She didn’t flinch. “The truth can never stay buried forever. It will surface one day, and you will regret every single thing you’ve done to me.”
Christian’s teeth ground together. His grip tightened just enough to make her wince.
“I saw the devotion in his eyes when he spoke of you,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “He loved you.”
“It was an act.” Melody’s eyes never left his. “He played you. Made you believe he loved me so that if I ever spoke about him harassing me, you and everyone else would think I was lying. That I was the villain.”
Christian’s hand dropped. He stepped back, breathing hard.
“I don’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth,” he said. “My brother was not that kind of person.”
“Keep thinking that,” she whispered.
“Do you have proof?”
“I wish I did.”
He stared at her, then scoffed, turning away, clearly not believing what she said. He pulled open a drawer, withdrew a check, and slapped it on the desk.
The amount was generous. More than enough to start over.
“Cash it,” he said.
Melody looked at the paper. Then at him.
She picked it up slowly. Then she tore it in half. Then in half again.
The pieces fluttered to the floor.
“I don’t need your dirty money,” she said, voice steady despite the tears. “Just… let me see Symphony. Please.”
Christian’s teeth gritted. He looked away.
“Goodbye, Christian,” she said softly.
She turned.
And left.
The door closed behind her with a quiet finality.
Christian stood alone in the study, staring at the torn check on the floor.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t pick it up.
He just stood there, breathing hard, the echo of her words ringing in the silence.
×××××××
The key stuck in the lock at first... rust and time had warped the mechanism.
Melody twisted harder, breath hitching, until the tumblers finally gave with a reluctant click.
The door creaked open on stiff hinges, releasing a puff of stale, trapped air that smelled of dust, old paint, and forgotten days.
She stepped inside.
The apartment was small. One room with an open plan kitchen and a bathroom big enough for the toilet seat, a shower and a sink.
It had been hers once. A year ago she’d left it in a hurry, dragged away by Christian’s threats and the police cuffs, expecting to return in days.
Instead, it had waited for her all this time, untouched, abandoned, locked away like a tomb.
The sight hit her like a physical blow.
Wallpaper peeled in long, ragged strips from the walls, curling like dead skin.
The couch lay on its side, cushions split open, stuffing spilling out like pale guts.
The small coffee table was overturned, legs cracked.
Books she’d loved... novels, business texts, a worn poetry collection, lay scattered across the floor, pages torn, spines broken.
A lamp lay shattered in the corner, bulb cracked and dark.
She closed the door behind her with a soft thud.
Her hand fumbled along the wall until she found the light switch. She flicked it.
The overhead bulb flickered twice, sputtering like it had forgotten how to live. Then it steadied, casting a weak, yellowish glow over the wreckage.
Melody moved forward slowly, heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. Her shoes crunched on broken glass. She stepped over a fallen picture frame, avoided the shredded throw blanket she used to curl up under on cold nights.
She stopped at the small table near the dusty couch, the one spot that hadn’t been completely destroyed.
A single framed photograph sat there, upright, as if someone had carefully placed it and left it waiting.
Melody reached out with shaking fingers and lifted it.
The glass was cracked in one corner, but the picture inside was clear.
It was her.
Before everything.
She was laughing... head thrown back, eyes bright, long glossy black hair cascading over her shoulders in perfect waves.
She wore a tailored navy dress that hugged her figure, the one she’d bought for her first big presentation.
Her smile was wide, unguarded, full of hope and quiet triumph. She looked… alive. Beautiful. Free.
A sob tore from her throat.
She sank to the floor, knees buckling, clutching the frame to her chest like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
Tears came fast and hard... silent at first, then wrenching, shaking her whole body.
She cried for herself, the girl in the picture who believed in hard work, in love, in a future that could be kind.
She cried for Christian, the man she’d loved in silence for years, the one who’d once draped his coat over her shoulders, who’d looked at her like she mattered, only to become the architect of her destruction.
She cried for Symphony, her tiny, perfect daughter, growing up without her, learning to smile and laugh and reach for someone else’s arms.
And she cried for the cruelty of her fate.
For the way life had taken everything she’d ever dared to hope for and ground it into dust.
For the way love had turned into punishment.
For the way hope had become a wound that refused to heal.
She rocked on the floor, frame pressed against her heart, tears soaking the cracked glass.
The apartment stayed silent around her... dusty, broken, waiting.
Just like her.
And in the stillness, Melody cried until her voice gave out, until there was nothing left but quiet, shuddering breaths and the faint flicker of the single bulb overhead.
She was home.
And she had never felt more lost.
×××××××
I still remember the day Victoria came to my apartment.
It was before the arrest, before everything collapsed.
I had come home after the drama at the office about Ashton's death.
The door was unlocked when I arrived.
I pushed it open, and the sight stopped my heart.
The place was already destroyed.
Wallpaper ripped in long, vicious strips from the walls.
My couch overturned, cushions slashed open, stuffing scattered like snow.
Books thrown across the floor, pages torn out, spines broken.
The small table where I kept my framed photo of myself laughing in that navy dress was flipped over, glass shattered.
The lamp lay in pieces.
Everything I owned, everything I had built in that tiny space, lay in ruins.
Victoria stood in the middle of it all, breathing hard, face twisted with hysterical fury.
Two big men loomed behind her, hands still dirty from the destruction.
One held a crowbar; the other flexed his knuckles like he’d enjoyed every second.
She turned when she heard me.
Her eyes were wild, mascara streaked, hair coming loose from its perfect twist.
“You think you can take my son from me?” she screamed. “You think you can destroy my family and walk away?”
I backed up a step, heart pounding. “I didn’t, I never—”
She lunged forward and slapped me hard enough that my head snapped to the side.
“You killed Ashton,” she hissed. “You drove him to it. And now you stand here like you’re innocent?”
I tasted blood.
I tried to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come.
The men moved again, kicking over the last standing chair, smashing the few dishes I owned in the kitchen.
Victoria watched it all, chest heaving, tears of rage running down her face.
I sank to my knees amid the wreckage, hands shaking, trying to gather the torn pages of a book I’d loved.
That’s when the sirens started.
Police lights flashed through the windows... red and blue, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The door burst open again.
Officers flooded in.
They didn’t ask questions.
They didn’t look at the destruction.
“Melody Evans?” one said, already reaching for the cuffs.
Victoria stepped back, suddenly calm, composed, as if she’d rehearsed this moment.
“She’s the one,” she said, voice steady now. “She killed my son.”
They grabbed my arms.
Cold metal clicked around my wrists.
I looked back at the ruined apartment.
Then they pulled me away.
I never got to cry over it properly.
Never got to pick up the pieces.
They took me straight to the station, and the rest became a blur of charges, court dates, and Christian’s cold eyes.
But I still see it every time I close my eyes.
The apartment I loved reduced to rubble in minutes.
And me, standing in the middle of it, powerless, while the people who hated me watched.
That was the day they took my home.
And I never got it back.
—Melody
×××××××