I didn’t reply. I kept packing.
Morning came. My flight time approached. Ethan did not come home with the dress, or at all.
I took one last look around the beautiful, empty brownstone that had never truly felt like a home. All traces of me—my books, my favorite mug, the photos of my family—were already in boxes, headed to storage.
I closed the door. As the Uber pulled away from the curb, I sent one final text.
*Ethan. It’s over. Don’t contact me again. -L*
Then I blocked his number, his email, every social media account.
At the airport, just before boarding, a notification from an unknown number popped up. *"What the hell is this? You’re breaking up with me? I said I’d buy you the damn dress! What more do you want? Stop this now, Lauren, or we are done for real."*
I stared at the words, a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying finally lifting from my shoulders. I took a deep, clean breath and deleted the message.
Seattle was a revelation. The air was different.
