Eight Years Lost, Now Truly Free

s his loyal paralegal and devoted partner, sacrificing a

is office. He called me "damaged goods,"

shed me to the firm's basement archives. When intruders att

ramatic," he sa

caused me to miscarry the ba

s social media post: a smiling se

ppear. He thought he had broken me. H

pte

na

hing more than a convenient accessory." Blake's voice, usually so smooth and calming, was laced with a chilling disdain I'd never heard directed at me. Not at me, at

partnershi

make it." Her words, meant to be a comfort, now felt like a lead weight pressing down on my chest. I had rehearsed telling her about my "lost cause of a

ced sympathy. "Alena, sweetheart, the firm needs a fresh face. Someone with key connections. Brittany, her father... it's a h

she really go through with that just for you?" Brittany Ferguson's voice, sweet and venomous, dripped with amusement. I pictured

think she believed we had a future." He paused, and I could almost feel his smirk. "Eight years, Brittany. Eight years o

ning devotion. That was me. That was my

l echo of his earlier remark. "Because of one

I didn't want a child, but because Blake had convinced me it was "not the right time," "too early in my caree

y career, it wasn't just the betrayal. It was everything. Every sacrifice, every silent t

w I was there. I heard a sudden silence, then Brittany' s gasp. I didn' t wait. I couldn' t. My legs move

My hands trembled as I reached into my purse, pulling out the small, velvet box. Inside lay the delicate sil

A beautiful, glittering lie. I slammed it into the porcelain sink, the silver twisting and bending under the force,

erything. Eight years, shattered. And I was done. Done with the

and early mornings. My heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate drumbeat of newfound rebellion

looked at the framed photo on my desk: Blake and me, smiling, arm in arm, at

word on the back: "Liar." Then I tossed it into the wastebaske

wore a bright pink scarf, the same shade Blake had once said looked beautiful on me. "Alena," she

d before they reached my lips. I just looked at her, really looked at

ation. You're in charge of the welcome packet assembly." She gestured vaguely to a stack of brightly c

istine white coffee mug from my desk, emblazoned with the firm's logo. It was a gift from Blake to me, last Christ

y desk. Her tr

cold, hard resolve. I looked at the coffee mug in her hand, then at the stack of trivial tasks she'd just d

ce surprisingly steady. "I

s that, Alena? Need help packing your... welco

to tell Blake that he can assemble his own damn

. I knew the shock was genuine. She'd expected me t

an it had in years. I didn't care about the tech deal, the welcome

to my office. We need to talk. NOW." The imperious tone, the capital le

he reply button. My heart didn't clench. It di

le word. "No."

nsing breath, I deleted

ffice. I walked towards the elevator, my steps firm and purposeful. I was leavin

ched into my coat pocket. My hand closed around the twisted silver necklace, the "promise" Blake had give

with a faint metallic clink, swallowed by the tr

t was never truly mine. My mind drifted to that sterile, cold clinic room, the hushed voices, the overwhelming sense of loss. That had been f

, a strange calm settled over me. He hadn't damaged me. H

ed it. It didn't matter. Nothing from that life mat

nd floor button. The doors hissed shut, sealing away the past, opening to an un

cal reminder that even broken things can heal, leaving behind a stronger, more res

ould rebuild. I would rise. An

ned. I was going home. No, I was going to a home I hadn't seen in years, a place

The doors opened. A

, a ghost, invisible to the bustling crow