Chapter 17 Rose
ROSE
Warm tears cloud my vision.
I move through the room on autopilot, folding clothes that don’t need folding, placing books into boxes with shaking hands, trying very hard not to think about how temporary everything suddenly feels.
The house is quiet in a way that presses against my ears, every sound too loud, every silence louder.
An hour. That’s all I get.
Just like when I ran.
The thought cracks something open in my chest, and the tears finally come. Silent at first, then ugly and uncontrollable, blurring my vision until I have to sit on the edge of the bed and press my palms into my eyes.
I should have known better.
I tell myself that over and over like a mantra. Matteo was never going to be different. Men like him don’t build families; they build fortresses. They decide what’s best for you and call it protection. They shut doors and expect you to thank them for it.
Everyone leaves.
Or they push you out before you can leave them.
My family did it first, with smiles and obligations and a future I didn’t choose. They called it love. They called it duty. They called it family.
This feels the same.
I swipe at my face, angry at myself for believing in something soft. For thinking that Matteo kissing me goodbye on staircases and rescuing my cats might actually mean he wants me to stay.
I finish packing with numb efficiency and carry the last box to the door. My chest feels hollow, like something essential has been removed without anesthesia.
Before I leave, I step outside.
The garden is quiet, washed in late-afternoon light. The roses sway gently, unbothered by human drama, still blooming, still beautiful. I walk toward them like I’m saying goodbye to something alive.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure who it’s for.
Then pain explodes at the back of my head.
There’s no warning. No time to react. Just a sharp, blinding impact that steals my breath and sends the world tilting violently sideways.
The roses blur.
The sky fractures into light and shadow.
And then everything goes dark.