Good bye, My Fiancee, You Hurt me!

“Uncle… that marriage you wanted me to have back then… is it still on the table?” My voice was hoarse, trembling, but I pressed on. “If yes, then pick me up by next week. I’m agreeing to that wedding.”

There was silence at first, then his voice—confused, even alarmed. “Shania? What are you talking about? Isn’t today your wedding party with Marco? I’m sorry for not coming because I was busy but what happened? Why are you suddenly saying this?”

My chest rose and fell as I struggled to keep steady. “Because for the second time, he postponed our wedding ceremony… for Camille. So I’m done.”

I heaved. “He’s never gonna choose me again, so please, see me by next week, uncle. I’ll do everything you want me to do if you pick me up from this misery.”

Before he could respond, I ended the call. The weight of those words clung to me like lead, but there was also a strange kind of release, like finally cutting free from chains I had worn for too long.

I lowered the phone slowly, my hand trembling as I clutched the lace of my gown. Around me, the garden lights still twinkled, strung across branches like stars. The roses and lilies we had chosen together lined the aisle, their fragrance heavy in the night air. Tables were filled with food that no one touched, champagne glasses halfempty.

And yet… there was no groom.

My wedding had become nothing but a spectacle of pity.

One by one, the guests approached me with hushed voices, their eyes heavy with sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, Shania.”

“You don’t deserve this.”

“He’ll come around, don’t worry.”

Each word was like salt in an open wound. I stood there in my gown—the gown I had dreamed of since I was a girl—its white silk trailing across the grass, now stained by tears I tried to hide.

Marco didn’t come.

When I finally called him, desperate for an explanation, his voice was maddeningly calm, as though he had no idea what I was standing in the middle of.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” he said. “Camille’s burning with fever. I couldn’t just leave her. We can just… do this again, okay? Next week. Or maybe skip the ceremony and just register—it’s the same thing anyway.”

Camille.

The name was enough to make my chest ache with bitterness. I closed my eyes, my hands tightening around the phone until my knuckles turned white. For twenty years, Marco and I had been the perfect childhood couple. Everyone knew it. Everyone expected us to marry once we turned twentyfive. It was supposed to be fate, our destiny.

And it almost happened.

A year ago, the wedding was already planned. I had my gown, my vows, my entire life laid out in front of me. But then Marco went on that cursed cruise. The accident left him broken, missing for months. When he finally came back, he wasn’t alone.

He came back with Camille—the woman who had saved him, cared for him while he recovered. And because of that, his family insisted she stay, that the debt must be repaid.

Marco promised her happiness.

At first, I agreed. I felt indebted too. Without Camille, Marco might not even be alive. I told myself it was fine, that she would stay with us for a while, then leave once things settled. But things never settled.

Because Marco’s goal shifted. It was no longer about us, about our future. It was about her. Camille.

When our wedding was postponed the first time, I forgave him. I told myself love was patient. That I could understand. But now? Now it had been ninetynine times. Ninetynine excuses. Ninetynine moments where he chose her over me.

And I realized—I wasn’t his priority anymore.

I wasn’t his choice.

The place owner’s voice broke my spiraling thoughts. “Miss Shania… what about the food? Everything’s been prepared for the guests.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Donate it,” I said coldly, my voice sharper than I intended. “Give it to anyone who needs it. I don’t care.”

I grabbed my bag, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I walked out of the place without looking back.

The car ride home was quiet, but my chest wasn’t. It burned with every memory, every broken promise. The house loomed in the distance—the one Marco had given me as our supposed future home. A symbol of love, of promises of forever. But to me, it was nothing but an empty shell.

Inside, I moved quickly, almost frantically. My room became chaotic as I pulled open drawers, gathered everything Marco and his family had given me. Diamonds, gold, letters, keepsakes—all the tokens of a love that had rotted from the inside. I stuffed them into a box, my hands trembling but determined.

The door creaked.

I turned sharply. Marco was there, climbing the stairs, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and relief, as if his absence at our wedding was nothing more than a minor mistake.

“Babe…” His voice softened as he stepped closer, arms opening like he could erase everything with one embrace. He pulled me into him before I could step back, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m sorry—for not coming, for letting you stand there alone. I regret it, I really do. But Camille was sick, and I couldn’t just leave her. You understand, right?”

I pushed against his chest, my gown rustling as I tore myself from his hold. My eyes burned with fury, my voice trembling as it rose.

“That’s your excuse? Marco, this wasn’t some dinner date you postponed. It was our wedding. Our wedding!”

Marco’s jaw tightened, but he still tried to reach for me again, his voice low, coaxing, as though logic could make up for betrayal.

“Babe, listen to me. A ceremony is just for show—it’s not what really matters. What’s important is that we love each other, that we’re already committed. We can register anytime, tomorrow even. The guests will forget, the families will understand… but Camille needed me—”

My fury boiled over. I grabbed the ring he had given me, the diamonds that once sparkled with promise, and threw it at him. The sound of metal hitting the marble floor echoed like thunder.

And then I shoved the box into his chest. “Take it. Take everything back.”

He froze, stunned. “Shania, what are you—”

“There is no wedding!” My voice cracked, raw from the weight of my broken heart. “Because I’m breaking off the engagement!”

“There is no wedding!” My voice cracked, raw from the weight of my broken heart. “Because I’m breaking off the engagement!”

For a moment, silence swallowed the room. Marco blinked at me, stunned, as if my words had come from a stranger. His lips parted, then curved into something that wasn’t remorse but disbelief.

“You’re being dramatic again.” He actually laughed—laughed—like my pain was nothing more than another one of my moods. “Come on, Shania. You can’t leave me like that. You love me too much.”

His arrogance was a slap harder than any hand could deliver.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my chest heaving. “I can. And I will. Just wait and see.”

I wanted him to fight me. To beg. To tell me I was wrong and pull me into his arms the way he always used to. But instead, Marco only shrugged, turning away like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

Before I could scream at him, a soft voice floated from the hallway. “Marco? Shania? Are you fighting… because of me?”

Camille. She stood at the threshold in her silk robe, her hair tousled as if she had just rolled out of our bed. Her face was pale, her hands clasped tightly together. She looked fragile, like porcelain about to crack.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “The wedding was postponed—it’s my fault. I was sick, and I feel so bad. Please don’t blame Marco. You can always do it again.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Don’t be sorry,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage. “Be honest. You wanted this. You wanted him. And now you have him. So congratulations.”

“Shania!” Marco’s voice thundered. His eyes narrowed with fury. “What is your attitude? Can’t you see she’s sick? Why are you picking a fight?”

Camille shook her head quickly, stepping forward, her eyes glistening. “Please… don’t think badly of me. I never wanted to come between you two. I just want to apologize.”

Her hand reached for mine. Soft, hesitant. Pretending to be kind.

I slapped it away.

The crack echoed through the hall. Camille gasped, stumbling back, her eyes wide. Marco froze, his mouth open in shock.

Before either of them could speak, I spun around, stormed into my room, and locked the door behind me.

“Shania!” Marco’s fists pounded against the wood. “Open the door! Don’t make me punish you. Do you hear me?”

I pressed my back against the door, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Through the wood, Camille’s voice drifted, trembling but cruel underneath. “She deserves it, Marco. Don’t let her treat me this way. Don’t let her ruin you.”

Her words cut me deeper than the slap I had given her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll punish her tomorrow. For now, you should rest.” And they were gone.

All I could do was cry. Back then, when I was angry with Marco, he would do anything—anything—to win me back. He once stood outside my dorm in the pouring rain with roses until I forgave him. When I ignored his calls after our first real fight, he wrote me letters every day, sliding them under my door until I laughed through my tears. He never let me cry alone.

But now? Now he let me cry on the other side of a locked door, while Camille whispered poison into his ear.

The tears wouldn’t stop. My chest heaved as sobs shook me, but the sound of laughter outside—hers, his—was worse.

And then the moaning started.

I pressed my hands to my ears, but it didn’t matter. Their voices seeped through the cracks, sharp reminders that I was no longer chosen, no longer wanted. Eventually, exhaustion dragged me into restless sleep, my pillow wet with tears.

The next morning, sunlight pierced my swollen eyes as the door burst open. Marco stood there, towering over me, his expression thunderous.

“Get up.” His voice was sharp, unyielding. He yanked the blankets off me.

I blinked, disoriented. “What—”

“Did you reflect on what you did last night?” His tone was ice. “Apologize to her now.”

I pushed myself up slowly, my voice raw. “No. I won’t. I did nothing wrong. She’s the one who ruined me… ruined us.”

Marco’s glare darkened. “Do you hear yourself? She saved me, Shania. Without her, I wouldn’t even be alive. Can’t you be grateful for once?”

My lips trembled. “I was grateful. But not anymore.”

I tried to walk past him, but his grip clamped down on my wrist. And then the sting came.

His hand struck my cheek, the sound deafening in the silence.

“That’s for slapping her.” His words dripped with venom. “Now get dressed. We’re going out.”

I gasped, clutching my face. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

“Because Camille wants to eat out. And she wants you to come. She’s trying to make this work. So be a good girl, Shania. If you want to marry me, you’ll have to live with her. That’s how it is. Fix your attitude—or there really won’t be a wedding.”

His words stole the breath from my lungs. My heart twisted, but I was dragged into the car minutes later.

Marco drove. Camille sat beside him in the passenger seat, their laughter filling the air like poison. And me? I sat in the back, invisible. Forgotten.

By the time we reached the restaurant, the sky had turned gray. Snowflakes drifted down, swirling in the bitter wind. The ground was slick, the air sharp.

We stepped into the parking lot, crossing toward the glowing lights of the restaurant. My heels clicked against the icy asphalt, my arms wrapped around myself for warmth.

Then it happened.

A truck barreled down the street, its horn blaring, tires skidding against the snow. The world blurred into chaos—screams, flashing lights, pounding footsteps.

I stood frozen at the crosswalk, the headlights blinding me. My body refused to move, my mind blank with terror.

Marco ran.

But not to me.

He lunged for Camille, pulling her into his arms, shielding her with his body as though she were the only one that mattered.

And me?

I was left standing alone.

The impact came like thunder. Pain exploded through every nerve, ripping the breath from my lungs. The world shattered into white snow, red lights, and screaming voices.

And then—darkness.

By some miracle, I was alive.

When my eyes first fluttered open, the sterile white of the hospital ceiling greeted me, and the steady beeping of machines tethered me to reality. Pain laced through every inch of my body, sharp yet numbed by medication.

I shouldn’t have survived. The nurse said as much.

“It’s a miracle you’re even here,” she whispered, adjusting the IV. “You’ll have scars, and the impact was dangerous… but you’re fine enough to be discharged tomorrow.”

I nodded faintly, unable to find words.

But inside, I was breaking.

Because as I lay there, the memory of another fall came rushing back—years ago, when I had slipped near the cliff on our trip. I could still remember the terror, the wind tearing through my screams. And Marco—Marco hadn’t stopped until he found me. He climbed down himself, his hands bloodied, his arms shaking as he pulled me back up. He never once let go.

That was the Marco I loved.

But now? I had stood in the middle of that street, frozen and terrified. And he hadn’t even looked at me. His arms, his protection, his love—all of it had gone to Camille.

I was disregarded.

Disposable.

That night, I stayed alone in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling as snow continued to fall outside the window. Marco never came. Not even once. My phone buzzed at midnight, and I snatched it up desperately—only to feel my heart sink.

Marco: Camille was in shock from almost being hit. She needs me tonight. Stay strong.

Stay strong. As if that was all my pain amounted to.

A second message arrived later—from Anastacia, his mother.

Anastacia: Shania, tomorrow’s my birthday. Come please. I miss you, my daughter.

For a moment, I wanted to refuse. To curl up and disappear. But Anastacia… she was the one who had been there after my parents died. She handled my parents’ business until I could stand on my own. She was more of a mother to me than anyone else had ever been.

So the next day, against my better judgment, I went.

The party was grand, with warm lights glowing across Anastacia’s estate. Laughter spilled from the ballroom, crystal glasses chiming. But as I lingered at the edge of the hall, unseen, I heard the voices.

“Marco, are you insane?” Anastacia’s voice was sharp, cutting through the chatter. “You let her be in an accident for that woman? Shania is your fiancée. She’s the one meant to be with you!”

Marco’s reply was firm, defensive. “But you know, Mom—Camille saved me. I owe her everything. I’m just returning the favor.”

My heart thudded painfully.

Anastacia’s voice trembled. “And Shania? Has she not saved you too, countless times? I told you to take care of Camille, not replace Shania!”

His answer sliced through me. “Maybe it’s better to replace Shania. I think Camille’s better.”

The words gutted me. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The world blurred as I backed away, my legs unsteady beneath me.

When I finally stepped inside, I felt like a ghost. Marco sat with Camille, their hands closed, their faces glowing with comfort, while I stood like a forgotten shadow. A wallflower at my own place in this family.

Anastacia found me later, her expression soft, guilt swimming in her eyes. “Are you alright, my dear?”

I forced a smile. “I’m okay. Happy birthday.”

Her hand lingered on my arm. “Come, sit with us at the table.”

I shook my head, glancing at Camille draped beside Marco. “There’s no need. She’s there. You don’t have to make space for me.”

Her eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry, Shania. It’s our fault for letting that woman into your life.”

I shook my head again, whispering, “No worries. I understand.”

And I turned away, heading toward the bar.

The burn of alcohol slid down my throat as I sipped glass after glass, desperate to drown the ache. The chatter of guests blurred, my vision hazed.

Then a hand slid against my back—too low, too rough. I stiffened, turning sharply. A man leaned close, his breath laced with liquor.

“Don’t look so lonely, pretty,” he murmured.

“Stop it,” I hissed, pushing him away.

But his hand gripped tighter, pressing against my waist. Panic surged, and I shouted, my voice ringing through the hall. “He’s harassing me! Someone—help!”

Heads turned. Conversations hushed. All eyes landed on me.

The man smirked, loosening his grip just enough to play innocent. “Harassing? No, no. She’s drunk. She came on to me. Tried to seduce me.”

Laughter rippled. Gasps followed. Whispers darted through the crowd like knives.

And Marco? He stood on the other side of the room, watching me. Watching. And doing nothing.

Finally, he stepped forward, his eyes cold as he grabbed my arm. “Is it true?” His voice was sharp, humiliating. “Were you seducing him?”

“No!” My voice cracked with desperation. “I swear, Marco—I wasn’t—”

But the damage was done. People were staring, whispering, eyes filled with pity and disgust. My body trembled as shame swallowed me whole.

I tore myself free, running out of the hall as tears blinded me.

“Shania!” A voice called after me—not Marco’s. Anastacia’s. She caught up in the corridor, her heels clicking against the marble. “Don’t go, my dear. Please. Stay. You belong here.”

I shook my head, sobbing. “No. I can’t. I can’t be part of this family anymore. I’m breaking the engagement.”

Her face fell, sorrow deep in her eyes.

“Please,” I whispered, clutching her hands. “If you truly care for me, don’t ever tell your son that I’m leaving. Don’t let him find me. Promise me.”

Her lips trembled, but she nodded, tears gathering in her eyes.

And just like that, I turned away, my heart shattering one last time.

For days, my life had become nothing but packing, sorting, and stripping away every trace of a love that had already died. I instructed my uncle to handle the legal side of selling my properties, and one by one, I began letting go of everything Marco ever gave me—cars, jewels, even the wedding house that once symbolized our future.

Every gift that had once felt like devotion now felt like chains I wanted nothing more than to shatter.

Camille’s belongings were gathered too. I couldn’t stomach the thought of her clothes and trinkets lying around my home as if she belonged here.

Some were boxed and sent away. Others, I simply had thrown out. The house smelled of dust and detergent, but at least it was mine again, even if only for a short while longer.

I was wiping down the table in the living room when I heard voices—Marco’s voice, low and careless, drifting from the back terrace where he thought I couldn’t hear. I froze, the cloth in my hand damp and shaking.

“Mom, I heard you, okay?” His tone was sharp, irritated. “It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want to marry me. So what? I don’t care. She’ll surely beg for it soon, so let her be dramatic.”

My chest tightened.

“Who cares? Even if she’s dead, I don’t think I’d care about her funeral. I regret promising her the wedding. I was wrong.”

The words hit me like blades. My knees almost buckled beneath me, but I gripped the table for balance. That—those words—that was my last straw. After everything, after twenty years of loyalty, love, sacrifice… to him, my life, my death, my very existence was meaningless.

I dropped the rag on the table and walked straight to the door. I didn’t even care if he saw me anymore.

But I didn’t make it outside before Camille’s voice screeched behind me. “What’s going on here?! Why are my things outside? Why are you throwing everything away?”

I turned slowly, my voice calm though my heart raged. “This is my house. I’ll do as I please.”

Her eyes widened, then welled up instantly with tears—practiced tears, I thought bitterly. She looked like a child running to her protector when Marco appeared.

“What’s happening here?” he demanded.

Camille burst into sobs, clutching his arm. “She’s throwing me out!”

Shania’s face darkened. “Marco, you gave me this house. That makes it mine, and I have every right to do whatever I want with it. If I say Camille has to leave, then she leaves.”

Marco’s jaw tightened, his eyes blazing. “You think you can just use that against me? Don’t forget who put you here in the first place. I gave you this house, Shania—not so you could throw your tantrums and drive out whoever I let in.”

I straightened, unflinching. “This isn’t a tantrum. This is me taking back what’s mine. If you want her here so badly, then fine—you can both leave. I don’t want either of you under my roof.”

Marco’s expression darkened further, his voice a low growl. “Are you acting this way because you think my mother will back you up? You think her favor gives you power?” He let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Pathetic. Fine. Camille’s leaving anyway. I already bought her a bigger house.”

My eyes flicked to Camille. Her tears evaporated instantly, replaced by a sly, triumphant smile. “You did?” she asked sweetly, feigning surprise.

“Yes,” Marco said with finality.

Camille’s mask slipped into a polite smile, and she turned to me. “I’m sorry for overstaying here,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. She even stepped forward and hugged me, as if I would believe her act of gratitude.

But her whisper burned against my ear: “I’m leaving with him. I won’t ever let him come back to you again.”

I closed my eyes briefly, then pulled back, my face unreadable. “Do as you want,” I said coldly. Then I looked directly at Marco. “Go ahead. Get married. I’m settling with another man anyway.”

His laughter exploded in the room. “You? Don’t joke with me, Shania. What man would want you after knowing you’ve been with me for twenty years? You think anyone would accept a woman like that?”

I met his mockery with silence, though my heart thundered with pain and fury. He would never know. He would never understand the worth of the woman who had given him her youth, her loyalty, her everything.

Marco smirked as though he’d won. “Anyway, I’ll be back once I let Camille settle in. We’ll talk then… especially that tomorrow is our scheduled wedding in the registry so you would shut your mouth already about us not getting married. ”

Before I could even respond, Camille suddenly covered her mouth dramatically. “Marco, I feel sick—I think I’m going to vomit.”

His entire attention snapped back to her, panic flashing in his eyes. At that moment, I disappeared to him completely, just as I always did when she was near.

I turned, opened the door, and stepped outside. The air was cool, the sky already dimming into the evening. My heart was heavier than ever, but inside me, a strange clarity formed.

Enough.

There’s no wedding.

Tomorrow, I will leave. Tomorrow, I will end this cycle of humiliation and betrayal once and for all.

I packed through the night, every piece of clothing folded with numb fingers, every drawer emptied with a quiet, deliberate finality. No more wedding dresses, no more photo albums of false promises. Each item tossed into a box felt like shedding another chain.

When I finally sat down, the silence of the house pressed against me. My phone buzzed on the table. Marco.

What do you want?

I’m coming home tonight. I’ll make it up to you and the promised wedding. Tell me, Shania—what do you want?

My lips curved into a humorless smile. What I wanted? He couldn’t give me what I wanted anymore—respect, loyalty, truth. He never could. But he would understand this one last request.

I typed slowly, each word steady, final.

Bring me a blueberry cheesecake.

Not long after, another message came in. Not Marco this time—Anastacia. His mother.

I managed to convince him to actually go through with the wedding tomorrow. Maybe that would make you stay. If not… then at least let me help you leave. For all the things my son has done, let me be the one to make it right.

I stared at the message until my vision blurred. My chest tightened, not with love, but with the cruel ache of wasted years. Anastacia was trying to clean up the wreckage Marco left behind, but it was too late.

The cake, the wedding, his sudden desperation—it was all nothing but ashes.

Tomorrow, I will walk away. Not just from Marco, not just from Camille, not just from this house that had been both a palace and a prison. But from the girl who once believed in promises that turned to poison.

Tomorrow, I will leave everything.

I typed back with trembling fingers.

Nothing could change my mind anymore. I’m sorry, but thank you…

For a long time after pressing send, I just sat there, staring at the screen, waiting for the impossible. Waiting for him to walk through the door, waiting for footsteps that never came.

The hours dragged. Midnight came and went. Still, no Marco.

My phone lit up at dawn. A message from him.

Camille needed me. She fractured her legs while cleaning and moving things. Don’t worry, tomorrow we’ll see each other at the civil registry for the wedding. I’ll make it up to you on the honeymoon.

I didn’t even realize I was laughing until I felt the burn of tears on my cheeks. Camille was always the reason. Always her pain, her needs, her place beside him—while I was left with promises as brittle as glass.

That afternoon, the butler arrived at my door, holding a white box. He placed it gently on the table and bowed. “From Sir Marco, Madam.”

My heart stuttered. For one foolish second, I thought maybe—just maybe—he remembered. That he had listened. That he had brought my real favorite because he remembered us. Because he remembered me.

I opened the box. The scent hit me instantly. Blueberry.

I froze. My throat tightened as the truth sank in. He hadn’t remembered me at all. I had always been allergic to blueberries. It was Camille who loved blueberries. Camille who devoured it every chance she got.

I just told him in case… hoping. But I stood there, staring at it, the final nail in the coffin of our years together. That was the last straw. Whatever hope still lingered inside me shattered clean through.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Marco.

“Shania,” my uncle’s deep, steady voice came through. “Everything is ready. I’ll be waiting at the airport. Don’t be late.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as if to anchor myself. My hands trembled, but not from fear—from resolve. The chains Marco bound me with had finally snapped.

“Alright,” I whispered into the phone, my gaze fixed on the untouched cake. “I’ll be there.”

The next morning, as I prepared to leave, I heard voices in the hall. The butler again—this time whispering hurriedly into his phone.

“…Yes, Sir Marco is planning to propose to Miss Camille later this evening. Everything is ready. And make sure that Miss Shania would never know about this. After all, their wedding at the civil registry is gonna be fake.”

My breath hitched, then escaped in a sharp laugh. A bitter, broken sound that echoed off the walls.

So this was it—every promise, every vow, every touch, all lies. The civil wedding, the future he painted, nothing but a performance while he gave his heart to someone else.

A hollow ache spread in my chest. Fool—that’s what I’d been. Twenty years wasted on love that never existed. I should have left long before Camille, before betrayal carved me hollow.

But now… I wasn’t broken. I was free. Once everything turns to ashes, there’s nothing left to fear.

I walked out of that house—my prison, my battlefield, my graveyard—and didn’t look back.

At the gates, a voice called out. One of Marco’s old friends, the kind who had always hovered at family dinners and parties, suddenly appeared, rushing toward me.

“Where are you going, Shania? Wait, are you leaving? I thought today would be your special day with Marco. That is why he asked me to come…” He looked stunned, as though he couldn’t quite believe I was truly leaving.

“Actually, it’s his special day with Camille as I am marrying someone else.”

His eyes widened. “You’re really marrying someone else? Does Marco know? Wait, what is happening?”

At the mention of Marco, my smile faded. The ache in my chest threatened to crush me, but I shook my head. “No. He won’t know. ” I glanced at the time. “It’s late. I have to leave now. Tell Marco my greetings.”

I slid into the car, closed the door, and as it pulled away, the manor shrank behind me.

Just as we reached the gates, another car passed ours. For the briefest moment, I saw Marco’s silhouette behind the wheel. He was gripping something small in his hand—something that gleamed faintly in the morning light. A ring box. It seems a proposal for Camille as I would be left alone for the third time. But I refused.

I turned my head away, pressing my palm to my stomach as if to hold myself together.

He and Camille would never be separated again… as I finally have my freedom.