Chapter 5: The Last Goodbye

I barely slept all night, and got up early, hugging my things as I went downstairs.

Dawn crept through the blinds, painting the kitchen in soft gold. I tiptoed past the creaky stair, balancing my suitcase and the teddy bear under my arm.

Derek was eating breakfast. When he saw the bundle in my arms, a trace of doubt flashed in his eyes, but he said nothing.

He sipped his coffee, eyes flickering up for just a second before returning to his phone. Even now, he was a closed door.

As always, he didn't care.

If he wondered where I was going, he didn’t ask. If he wanted me to stay, he didn’t say.

It was Mrs. Whitman who asked:

"Where are you going?"

She paused at the stove, spatula in hand, her face a mask of polite curiosity.

"Nowhere, just packed some things I don't need, planning to take them out..."

I trailed off, realizing it didn’t matter. No one was really listening.

Before I could finish, Derek's phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, thumbed a quick reply, then stood up, pushing in his chair with a little too much force.

He answered a few words, then got up and put on his coat.

"Something came up at the office. I'll head over first."

His voice was curt, all business. He grabbed his car keys and left without another word.

Mrs. Whitman reminded him, "Drive safe."

She hovered by the door, concern etched on her face, but Derek was already halfway to his car.

No one cared about my answer anymore.

It was always like this. I was background noise—a fixture in the house, not a member of the family.

I laughed at myself, went out, and took a Lyft to the mall.

The driver didn’t ask questions, just played classic rock on the radio as we sped through the morning traffic. I watched the city wake up through the rain-streaked window, feeling more free than I had in years.

The Whitmans had a driver, but I never used him.

It always felt wrong—like accepting charity I hadn’t earned. I preferred the impersonal anonymity of a Lyft, where nobody knew my business.

My tuition and living expenses were all earned through my own part-time jobs.

I’d folded laundry, tutored neighborhood kids, worked the register at the corner deli. Each dollar was proof that I could survive without them.

In this way, I maintained my pitiful self-esteem in front of Derek.

It was the only leverage I had. As long as I wasn’t living off the Whitmans, I could pretend I was just passing through.

Maybe if I never took a dime from the Whitmans, I could at least look Derek in the eye—pretend I wasn’t just some charity case.

It didn’t really work, but it made the long nights easier.

In the busiest mall in Maple Heights, the lights were dazzling.

The food court buzzed with teenagers and tired moms, the air thick with cinnamon rolls and coffee. I wandered past storefronts, letting the crowds swallow me whole.

I stood at the counter, thinking of buying a brooch as a gift for Tanya.

She’d always loved little trinkets, the kind you wear to an interview for good luck. I fingered a gold pin shaped like a tiny book, thinking of her laugh.

A familiar voice came from behind, sweet and a little coy:

"Derek, do you think this necklace suits me?"

Aubrey again, her tone flirtatious. I braced myself, heart pounding, knowing what I’d see when I turned around.

I turned instinctively.

There they were, framed by the soft glow of the jewelry counter. Derek in a crisp button-down, Aubrey’s arm looped through his. They looked like the poster couple for every department store ad in the country.

A tall, cold man and a charming young woman stood together—anyone would say they were a perfect match.

They looked so natural together, it hurt. I felt invisible, like an extra in my own story.

I only glanced briefly, but happened to meet Derek's gaze.

He saw me. For a split second, something flashed in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or annoyance. I looked away first.

There was a hint of impatience in his eyes:

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was quiet but sharp, as if I’d interrupted something important.

I knew he suspected I was following him.

He’d accused me of it before, back in high school. The irony was, I only ever went where Mrs. Whitman asked me to go.

When he was in high school, he went out with friends every weekend.

He and his buddies would hit the bowling alley or the movie theater downtown, while I trailed behind like a lost puppy.

Mrs. Whitman worried about him, so she had me tag along.

She’d hand me twenty dollars for pizza and say, “Keep an eye on him, Lillian.” Like I was his shadow, not his friend.

But those rich kids didn't like me.

They’d whisper when I walked by, roll their eyes when I sat down at their table. I got used to eating alone in the food court, pretending not to care.

I didn't dare refuse Mrs. Whitman, so I always followed behind, quietly.

I’d keep my distance, counting the minutes until I could go home. I always felt out of place, like I was intruding on someone else’s life.

When Derek discovered me, I'd lower my head and stammer, not knowing how to answer.

My cheeks would burn, my voice barely a whisper. He never offered to help, never told his friends to be nicer.

But now, I pointed at the sales assistant who was packing up, my expression calm:

"I'm here to buy a gift for Tanya. I'm leaving soon."

I kept my voice even, refusing to look at Aubrey. If he wanted to think the worst of me, I wouldn’t argue.

Derek seemed skeptical, frowning at me.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, he didn’t have a comeback.

But I didn't pester him, nor did I say anything more.

The overhead lights glared down, making everything too bright, too exposed. I just wanted to fade into the crowd.

I turned away, clutching the little gold brooch. This time, I left first.

From beginning to end, it was like running into an acquaintance at the mall, not someone close.

I realized, with a strange sense of relief, that I was free. I didn’t owe him anything—not explanations, not apologies.

As I walked away, the gold brooch warm in my palm, I promised myself I’d never look back.