The morning after the confrontation, Isla woke before the sun. The city was still, the skyline a faint silhouette beyond the hotel's rain-speckled window. She lay for a moment, listening to Lucas's steady breathing beside her-a sound she knew she'd never hear again. The weight in her chest was heavier than ever, but now it was edged with resolve.
She slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb him. In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, watching her reflection blur and sharpen in the mirror. Her eyes were red, but dry. She'd spent her tears already, somewhere between the ache of last night's words and the silent promise she'd made to herself.
Isla dressed quietly, folding her clothes with mechanical precision. She moved through the room like a ghost, gathering her things, her heart pounding with every zip and click. She paused at the foot of the bed, suitcase in hand, and looked at Lucas one last time. His brow was furrowed even in sleep, as if he sensed the storm beneath her calm.
She wanted to wake him, to try again, to say everything she'd left unsaid. But she knew it would only make leaving harder. She couldn't give him hope-couldn't let him believe she could stay, not when she was so certain she'd only bring him more pain.
The hotel hallway was silent as she stepped out, the door clicking shut behind her. Isla hesitated, her hand lingering on the handle. She pressed her forehead to the cool wood, breathing in the memory of last night: Lucas's voice, the tremor in his hands, the way he'd said he'd wait.
You don't have to do this alone. You never did.
But she did. She always had.
Downstairs, the lobby was empty except for a lone night clerk who nodded at her with sleepy indifference. Isla crossed the marble floor, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Outside, the air was crisp, the city waking slowly around her. She hailed a cab and slid inside, giving the driver an address she'd memorized days ago.
As the car pulled away, Isla watched the hotel recede in the rearview mirror. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself not to look back. She pressed her forehead to the window, letting the city's blur distract her from the ache inside.
She thought of Lucas-how he'd find the empty bed, the note she'd left on the nightstand. She'd kept it simple: I'm sorry. Please don't follow me. -Isla
She knew he wouldn't listen. He never did. But she hoped, for his sake, that he'd let her go this time.
The cab wound through quiet streets, the city coming alive in fits and starts. Isla watched the world pass by, her mind replaying the night before: the confrontation, the raw honesty, the way Lucas's words had broken through her defenses. She'd wanted to stay, to believe that love could be enough. But she knew herself too well. She'd seen what happened when she let people close-how she hurt them, how she hurt herself.
She reached the train station just as the first streaks of sunlight broke through the clouds. The platform was nearly empty, the air tinged with the scent of coffee and rain. Isla bought a ticket with shaking hands, her suitcase bumping against her leg as she waited for the train.
She thought about calling Emma, about explaining herself, but she knew her friend would only try to talk her out of it. Emma had always believed in second chances, in fighting for the people you loved. Isla wished she could see the world that way.
The train arrived with a low rumble, its doors hissing open. Isla stepped inside, finding a window seat and settling her bag at her feet. She watched as the city slid past, her reflection superimposed over the rushing landscape.
She wondered what Lucas was doing now-if he'd woken up, if he'd read her note. She imagined him searching the room, piecing together the evidence of her departure. She pictured his anger, his disappointment, the way he'd curse her name and then, maybe, forgive her.
The train sped on, carrying her away from the life she'd almost let herself have. Isla leaned her head against the glass, closing her eyes as the city faded behind her.
She remembered the promises she'd made to herself: to never be vulnerable, to never need anyone, to always leave before she was left. But last night had shaken her. Lucas's words had cut through her armor, leaving her raw and exposed. For a moment, she'd almost believed she could stay.
But fear was stronger than hope.
The hours blurred together. Isla watched the world change outside her window-city giving way to suburbs, then to open fields and distant mountains. She tried to empty her mind, but memories crowded in: Lucas's laughter, the warmth of his hand on hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was the only person in the room.
She thought about the wedding, about the way she'd played her part, distant and composed. She wondered if anyone had seen through her act, if anyone had noticed the way her eyes kept searching for Lucas in the crowd.
She wondered if she'd made a mistake.
At midday, the train stopped in a small town nestled between hills. Isla stepped onto the platform, the air sharp and clean. She found a café and ordered coffee, her hands trembling as she stirred in sugar. She sat by the window, watching strangers pass by, their lives unfolding without her.
She thought about starting over-finding a job, a place to live, building a life from scratch. She'd done it before. She could do it again.
But this time, the loneliness felt heavier.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Emma: Where are you? Please, Isla, talk to me.
Isla stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the reply button. She typed and deleted half a dozen responses before finally setting the phone aside. She couldn't explain herself-not yet. Maybe not ever.
She finished her coffee and wandered the quiet streets, her suitcase trailing behind her. The town was peaceful, the kind of place where no one knew her name. She found a small inn and checked in, the clerk barely glancing at her as she handed over her ID.
In her room, Isla sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank walls. She felt untethered, as if she'd left a part of herself behind in that hotel room with Lucas. She wondered if he'd try to find her, if he'd understand why she'd left.
She doubted it.
As evening fell, Isla stood by the window, watching the sky turn gold and then deep blue. She thought about the future-about what it would take to let herself be happy, to stop running from the people who cared about her. She didn't have the answers. All she knew was that she couldn't go back. Not yet.
She lay down, exhaustion pulling her under. For the first time in weeks, she dreamed of Lucas-not the man she'd left behind, but the one she'd fallen in love with. In her dream, he found her, took her hand, and told her it was okay to be afraid.
When she woke, the world was quiet. Isla sat up, the ache in her chest familiar but bearable. She knew the pain would fade, eventually. She knew she'd find a way forward.
But for now, she let herself grieve-for the love she'd lost, for the life she'd left behind, for the hope she'd been too scared to hold onto.
And somewhere, miles away, Lucas woke to an empty room and a note on the nightstand, the echo of Isla's absence settling in around him like a second skin.