Quite Goodbyes
Country: Aurivelle
City: Cressford
Alvara
Monday didn’t rush in.
It arrived slowly… like it understood exactly what today meant.
I woke up earlier than usual, but I didn’t get out of bed right away.
I just lay there.
Staring at the ceiling.
Listening.
The house was already awake.
Drawers opening.
Closets shifting.
Soft footsteps moving from room to room.
Mom.
Of course.
I let out a quiet breath and pushed myself up, running a hand through my hair before standing.
For a moment, I just stood there… looking around my room.
Everything was still the same.
Just as it had been eight months ago
though not entirely untouched.
This house…
our first real stop after everything fell apart.
Our quiet beginning in Cressford.
And today…
We would start taking pieces of it apart.
When I stepped into the sitting room, I paused.
Not because it was messy.
But because it was… organized chaos.
Neatly folded clothes arranged in careful stacks.
Open boxes scattered across the floor.
A suitcase already half-filled, sitting quietly in the middle of it all.
Mom moved between everything with calm focus, like she had been up for hours.
Leo sat on the couch, holding something unfamiliar in his hand, staring at it like it had personally offended him.
“What is this?” he asked.
Mom didn’t even look up.
“A blender attachment.”
Leo blinked slowly.
“Why do we need that?”
“For when we need it.”
“We’ve never used it.”
“We might.”
He turned to me the moment I walked in.
“Please talk to her.”
A small smile tugged at my lips.
“Good morning.”
Mom glanced up, her expression softening immediately.
“Good morning.”
I stepped further in, my eyes moving over the piles.
“You started early.”
She nodded.
“There’s a lot to sort.”
I crouched down, picking up one of the neatly folded stacks.
“You know the new place is fully furnished,” I said gently.
“I know.”
There was a brief pause.
Then, more quietly…
“But some things are ours… the things we started with when we first came here.”
I stilled for a second.
Then nodded.
I understood.
This wasn’t about furniture.
We started slowly.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just… decisions.
What to take.
What to leave.
What mattered.
Back in my room, I opened my wardrobe.
For a moment, I just stood there…
Looking.
Clothes I had worn more times than I could count.
The few I brought with me when we first arrived…
The ones I got here in Cressford.
and the ones I got later in Auremont.
Some I hadn’t touched in months.
Some tied to memories I wasn’t sure I wanted to hold onto.
I reached for one… then paused.
Do I take this?
I hesitated.
Then folded it anyway.
Not because I needed it…
But because I wasn’t ready to let it go.
By mid-morning, the house had found its rhythm.
Soft movements.
Zippers closing.
Drawers emptying.
Voices drifting faintly from one room to another.
Leo had long given up questioning everything. Now, he sat on the floor, surrounded by shoes, trying to make sense of them.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered.
“What doesn’t?” I asked, leaning against the doorway.
He looked up at me.
“How do you have this many shoes?”
“I wear them.”
“All of them?” he asked, skeptical.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I need them.”
He paused… then narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You sound like Mom.”
A small smile slipped onto my lips.
“Exactly.”
At some point, I found myself sitting on the floor, an old sketchbook resting in my lap.
I hadn’t opened it in a while.
The pages were filled with my early designs…
unsteady lines,
half-formed ideas,
creations that didn’t quite know what they wanted to be yet.
I flipped through slowly.
Page after page.
And somewhere in between those sketches…
I saw it.
Growth.
Not perfect
But real.
I closed the book gently.
This one…
was coming with me.
Evening settled in quietly, without needing to announce itself.
And somehow… the house had changed.
Not empty.
just lighter.
Spaces had opened up.
Shelves stood bare.
Corners that once held something now held… nothing.
Leo stood in the middle of the sitting room again, turning slowly as he took it all in.
“It feels weird,” he said.
I nodded.
“It does.”
Mom didn’t say anything.
She simply stood there, her gaze moving from one space to another…
taking it in.
Holding it.
Memorizing it.
By night, we were done.
I stood by the window in my room, looking out at the quiet street.
Everything out there looked the same.
Calm.
Still.
Unaware.
But inside this house…
Everything had shifted.
I turned away slowly, my eyes falling on the half-zipped suitcase resting at the edge of my bed.
I sat down beside it, running my fingers lightly over the fabric.
Tomorrow…
We would leave.
( The Next day)
Morning didn’t feel like morning.
It felt like something unfinished
like an ending that hadn’t quite settled yet.
I was already dressed.
Not because I was in a hurry…
but because I hadn’t really slept.
For a moment, I just sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the suitcase beside me.
It was done.
Everything we were taking… packed.
Everything else… left behind.
My fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet.
When I stepped into the sitting room, the air felt heavier than it had the day before.
Not chaotic like yesterday.
Just… final.
Suitcases were lined neatly against the wall.
Boxes sealed.
Nothing left to sort.
Mom stood in the middle of it all…not moving anymore… just looking.
Leo sat on the arm of the couch, phone in hand, scrolling without really seeing anything.
When he noticed me, he didn’t joke.
He just said,
“Morning.”
Soft.
Different.
I nodded.
“Morning.”
Mom turned toward me.
She didn’t speak immediately.
She just looked.
Like she was trying to memorize my face without letting me notice.
“You’re ready?” she asked gently.
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
But my chest didn’t agree.
A knock sounded at the door just as the silence began to stretch too far.
Mom moved first.
When she opened it.
Isabella stood there.
And beside her… her father.
They weren’t carrying much.
Just bags.
Just like us.
But something about seeing her made something tighten in my chest in a way I hadn’t expected.
She smiled.
Not her usual bright one.
Softer.
Careful.
Like she was trying not to disturb something fragile.
“Hey,” she said.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“Hey.”
Leo stood up almost immediately.
“Wow,” he muttered. “This is starting to feel official.”
Isabella gave him a look.
“It is official.”
That earned a small laugh from him…
the first real one all morning.
And then we heard it.
Outside.
A low, steady engine.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… there.
I stepped closer to the window before I even realized it.
The van was already there.
A sleek Mercedes-Benz Sprinter.
Dark tinted windows.
A clean, polished finish.
Waiting.
Like it had been there longer than it should have.
We moved slowly.
No one rushed.
Even Leo helped carry the bags without a single complaint.
That alone said enough.
Mom paused at the door just before stepping out.
Only for a second.
She looked back into the house.
Not crying.
Not breaking.
Just… holding it all in her eyes.
“I lived a good, free life here,” she said quietly.
No one responded.
No one needed to.
I understood.
I felt it too.
Outside, the air felt different.
The street looked the same…
But it wasn’t.
It felt like it was watching us leave.
Isabella walked beside me toward the van, her hand brushing lightly against mine.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
I nodded automatically.
Then paused.
“…I think so.”
She didn’t question it.
She just nodded…like she understood that kind of I think so.
The driver opened the back.
The space inside was larger than I expected.
Clean seats.
Neatly arranged.
Room for everything we had chosen to carry forward.
One by one, the bags went in.
Leo climbed in first, stretching out immediately.
“Okay,” he said. “This is actually kind of nice.”
Mom gave him a look.
“Behave.”
“I am behaving.”
“You’re reclining like you’re in a lounge.”
“I’m in emotional distress.”
Isabella laughed softly.
And I did too.
Just a little.
Then I stepped inside.
I didn’t sit immediately.
I just stood there…
Looking at the seats.
The windows.
The quiet space that was about to take us somewhere new.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
It’s just a ride.
But it didn’t feel like just a ride.
It felt like a line.
A before… and an after.
A life I could still turn back to…
And one I couldn’t.
I sat down slowly.
The door closed.
Soft.
But final.
The van didn’t move right away.
And in those few seconds, the silence felt louder than anything else.
Mom reached for my hand and held it gently.
I didn’t look at her.
If I did…
I might break.
Then the van started moving.
Slowly.
The house shifted in the window.
Our street followed.
Familiar corners.
Familiar trees.
Familiar everything.
I watched it all slip backward…like it was being erased.
Not harshly.
Not painfully.
Just… quietly taken out of reach.
Leo leaned forward slightly.
“Okay,” he said under his breath. “This is actually happening.”
No one replied.
Isabella kept her gaze on the window.
So did I.
Cressford.
The place that held our ordinary days.
Our struggles.
Our laughter at bus stops.
Our quiet beginnings.
It all began to shrink behind us.
And I realized something I wasn’t ready to say out loud.
I wasn’t just leaving the house.
I was leaving a version of myself.
The one who didn’t know what was coming.
The one who didn’t yet believe she could become more.
I blinked quickly.
Not now.
The van turned onto the main road.
The city widened.
Buildings stretched higher.
The world ahead opened up…like it had been waiting.
I leaned back into the seat slowly.
And let it carry me.
Away from everything we had known…
And toward everything we were about to become.