Chapter 14
One year later.
I stood at the departure gate of Westfield International Airport with a single carry-on bag and a one-way ticket to Barcelona.
Not running from anything. Running toward everything.
The foundation was thriving—Sophie had it running like clockwork. Twelve cases reopened in the past year. Three convictions. Nine women's stories finally heard.
My father's trust was working the way he'd always intended—protecting people who couldn't protect themselves. I liked to think he would have been proud.
The boarding announcement crackled overhead, and I joined the line of passengers shuffling toward the gate.
My phone buzzed one final time.
A text from Sophie: *Just saw that Vanessa's appeal for early release was denied. Again. Enjoy Spain, you beautiful free woman. Bring me back churros.*
I smiled and typed back: *Churros and wine. You earned it.*
I pocketed my phone and handed my boarding pass to the gate agent.
"Traveling alone?" she asked cheerfully.
I thought about the question longer than she probably expected.
Alone. Such a simple word. A year ago, it would have terrified me. The girl Marcus married had been afraid of silence, afraid of solitude, afraid that being alone meant being unworthy of love.
That girl died on a balcony.
The woman standing here now understood something different: alone doesn't mean lonely. Alone means free. Alone means nobody gets to decide when you stop breathing.
"Yes," I said, smiling. "Alone."
She handed my pass back and gestured toward the jetway. "Have a wonderful trip, Ms. Cross."
I walked down the corridor toward the plane, my footsteps echoing against the walls.
No one was waiting for me in Barcelona. No one was expecting me. There was no itinerary, no obligation, no one else's plan for my life.
Just me and a world full of open doors.
I settled into my window seat and watched the ground crew preparing for departure below. The engines hummed to life beneath me—a sound like possibility warming up.
As the plane began to taxi, I pressed my hand against the cool glass of the window and looked out at the city shrinking behind me.
Somewhere in that city, Marcus Reed was rotting in a cell he'd never leave.
Somewhere in that city, Vanessa Holt was counting the years.
Somewhere in that city, a woman I used to be had fallen from a great height and never gotten up.
But I got up.
I got up, and I walked away, and I kept walking until the ground beneath me was entirely my own.
The plane lifted off, and the city disappeared beneath the clouds.
I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and let the altitude carry me somewhere new.
No more cursed vows. No more burned bridges.
Just sky.
Just sky, and the rest of my life.
I stood at the departure gate of Westfield International Airport with a single carry-on bag and a one-way ticket to Barcelona.
Not running from anything. Running toward everything.
The foundation was thriving—Sophie had it running like clockwork. Twelve cases reopened in the past year. Three convictions. Nine women's stories finally heard.
My father's trust was working the way he'd always intended—protecting people who couldn't protect themselves. I liked to think he would have been proud.
The boarding announcement crackled overhead, and I joined the line of passengers shuffling toward the gate.
My phone buzzed one final time.
A text from Sophie: *Just saw that Vanessa's appeal for early release was denied. Again. Enjoy Spain, you beautiful free woman. Bring me back churros.*
I smiled and typed back: *Churros and wine. You earned it.*
I pocketed my phone and handed my boarding pass to the gate agent.
"Traveling alone?" she asked cheerfully.
I thought about the question longer than she probably expected.
Alone. Such a simple word. A year ago, it would have terrified me. The girl Marcus married had been afraid of silence, afraid of solitude, afraid that being alone meant being unworthy of love.
That girl died on a balcony.
The woman standing here now understood something different: alone doesn't mean lonely. Alone means free. Alone means nobody gets to decide when you stop breathing.
"Yes," I said, smiling. "Alone."
She handed my pass back and gestured toward the jetway. "Have a wonderful trip, Ms. Cross."
I walked down the corridor toward the plane, my footsteps echoing against the walls.
No one was waiting for me in Barcelona. No one was expecting me. There was no itinerary, no obligation, no one else's plan for my life.
Just me and a world full of open doors.
I settled into my window seat and watched the ground crew preparing for departure below. The engines hummed to life beneath me—a sound like possibility warming up.
As the plane began to taxi, I pressed my hand against the cool glass of the window and looked out at the city shrinking behind me.
Somewhere in that city, Marcus Reed was rotting in a cell he'd never leave.
Somewhere in that city, Vanessa Holt was counting the years.
Somewhere in that city, a woman I used to be had fallen from a great height and never gotten up.
But I got up.
I got up, and I walked away, and I kept walking until the ground beneath me was entirely my own.
The plane lifted off, and the city disappeared beneath the clouds.
I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and let the altitude carry me somewhere new.
No more cursed vows. No more burned bridges.
Just sky.
Just sky, and the rest of my life.