Ana stood in the great, echoing hall of the Blackwood house for what she knew would be the final time. The chilly marble floors beneath her feet seemed to mock her, in sharp contrast to the warmth she had previously experienced here. Her eyes lingered on the majestic staircase, down which she had gone many times, clad in dresses picked by Dorian, her hand tenderly put in his as he welcomed her into his world. Now the world had rejected her.
Hazel's words interrupted her thoughts. "Ana, the car is ready." Her buddy waited by the entrance, her look one of concern and haste.
Ana nodded and forced herself to walk. Her suitcase, modest and inconspicuous, was the only item with her. The rest of her existence, every piece of her damaged heart, was being abandoned.
As they went outdoors into the chilly night air, Ana paused. The expansive gardens, the fountain she adored, the location of her and Dorian's first kiss—it all seemed like a ghost haunting her. "Am I making the right decision?" she said quietly, her voice barely audible.
Hazel softly stroked her arm. "YOU ARE. Staying here will only break you more. Think about yourself now, and... Her glance shifted downwards. "And the baby."
Ana instantly laid her palm on her stomach. She hadn't told anyone but Hazel about her pregnancy. Not even Dorian. Especially Not Dorian. He'd made his decision, and it wasn't her. The notion caused a new surge of anguish in her chest, but she pushed herself to shove it down. She had no option but to proceed—for her child's sake.
Ana took one final glance at the mansion as the car began to drive away. Its towering form appeared both intimidating and empty, a perfect image of the guy who had abandoned her. She turned her face away, determined not to cry.
---
The trek to Eirian Vale was long and quiet. Hazel remained at her side, providing silent comfort, although none of them spoke anything. The quaint European town appeared just as morning broke, its cobblestone streets and ivy-covered homes glowing in golden light. It resembled something out of a storybook, in sharp contrast to the chilly splendor of the Blackwood house.
"This is it," Hazel exclaimed as the car came to a halt in front of a lovely home on the outskirts of the hamlet. "It's not much, but it is safe. "And it is yours."
Ana stepped out of the car and took a big breath. The air here was different: crisp and pure, with a subtle aroma of wildflowers. It felt like liberation.
The cottage was pleasant inside, with aged hardwood flooring and a fireplace that still smelled faintly of ash. Hazel laid Ana's bag down beside the door. "Are you certain you'll be okay here? "I can stay a little longer if you need—"
"No," Ana said, her tone harsher than she felt. "You have done enough, Hazel. Thank you, but I have to do it on my own."
Hazel paused and then nodded. "Call me if you need anything. "And Ana..." She hesitated, her face serious. "Do not let him draw you back. No matter what he says or does, remember why you left.
Ana nodded, but the knot in her throat made it difficult to talk. As Hazel drove away, the weight of her new reality fell on her. She was absolutely alone.
---
Days stretched into weeks, and Ana started to establish a new pattern. The hamlet was polite to her, and the locals were interested yet accepting. She spent her mornings sketching landscapes—rolling hills, ancient trees, and the mist that seemed to hang about in the early hours. It was peaceful work, and it helped calm her heart.
However, the evenings were tougher. Her thoughts would drift back to Dorian while she was alone in the cottage. She repeated his words, his treachery, until they became an agonizing mantra. She wondered whether he missed her and regretted what he had done. But then she remembered Lila's sneer, and how Dorian had stared at her with something reserved for Ana. And she would remind herself that he'd made his decision.
One evening, Ana was sitting by the fireplace when she was startled by a sudden tap on the door. She didn't anticipate anyone, and the peasants seldom came after dark. Her pulse raced as she neared the door and hesitated before opening it.
A tall, shadowy guy stood on the porch. His face was unknown, yet something about him made Ana's stomach turn.
"Mrs. Ravenscroft?" He inquired in a hushed, serious tone.
"Yes," she said warily.
He held out an envelope. "This is for you." "From Mr. Blackwood's attorney."
Ana's hands shook as she accepted the packet. "What is this about?"
"I'm just the messenger," the man explained with a small bow. "Good evening, ma'am." With that, he turned and vanished into the darkness.
Ana shut the door, her heart hammering. She gazed at the envelope for what seemed like an age before tearing it open. Inside came a letter, crisp and impersonal, outlining the conditions of her divorce. It was chilly and businesslike, in stark contrast to the passion and love they had experienced previously.
Her eyes skimmed the sentences, but one paragraph stood out: Mrs. Anastasia Ravenscroft's financial commitments will be fully met, guaranteeing she has nothing to worry about.
Want nothing? Ana's fists curled around the paper and crumpled it. Is that what he thought of her? That she might be bought off and her suffering alleviated with money?
Her rage boiled as she dropped the letter onto the table. She paced the room, her thoughts racing. But then another knock sounded at the door. This time, it felt gentler, almost tentative.
Ana asked: "Why now, Dorian?"
Dorian responded: "Because I couldn't lose you forever."
Ana said: "You already did."