“Vanessa…” he said, her name suddenly foreign on his tongue.
She swallowed. Tears gathered, but they were not pleading tears. They were lighter, freer—carrying relief instead of grief.
“I tried,” she said quickly. “I really did. But I can’t live like this. I can’t watch you like this.”
Like this.
The words stripped him down to a condition rather than a person. Vanessa slipped the engagement ring from her finger and placed it on the bedside table. The diamond touched the metal surface with a quiet finality that echoed louder than shouting.
“After seven years?” Nate asked, his voice thinning. “Now?”
She looked away. “The doctors were clear. You’re not going to walk again. And I’m still… me.”
The heart monitor reacted to his racing pulse, beeping sharply, insistently. But Vanessa was already gathering the designer handbag he had given her last Christmas, walking toward the door with the determination of someone who had decided not to look back.
