where I could hear the echo of my own resolve. As I stepped inside, memories washed over me like a tidal wave, each one urging me to reconsider. The family photos on the dresser, the old quilt Martha had sewn by hand, the faint scent of her favorite lavender perfume in the air—all whispered for me to stay. Yet, the decision had already crystallized in my mind. I couldn’t bow to Harry’s demands, not in my own home; not when it meant losing my self-respect.
Packing was a swift affair. I didn’t own much beyond the essentials. Over the years, I had learned to live lightly, a habit forged from the transient lifestyle of my youth. Martha used to say I could fit my entire world into a suitcase. I never quite believed her until now.
Each item I placed in my suitcase felt like a piece of my past being folded away, but I took only what mattered most: a few clothes, Martha’s quilt, and a small photo album filled with timeless moments captured in faded colors. I paused at the door, my heart heavy but resolute. This wasn’t just about leaving; it was a reclamation of dignity.
