Tiffany’s eyes glistened, but she said nothing, standing silently beside her husband. Harry crossed his arms, trying to maintain his façade of control. “Fine, if that’s how you want it,” he muttered.

I nodded, acknowledging his words without truly hearing them. My gaze lingered on Tiffany, hoping for a flicker of understanding, a sign that the daughter I knew was still in there somewhere. But the silence stretched between us, unbridgeable for now.

With a heavy heart, I picked up my suitcase and stepped out into the afternoon light. The world outside felt different, an uncertain new beginning rather than a sad ending. I had no plan, no clear path ahead, yet there was a strange sense of freedom in that.