From Here, No More Us

"Really?!"

Her mentor's voice shot through the phone.

Leah gripped it tighter, that bitter taste crawling up her throat.

God, she'd been such an idiot. Elio Vezzaro was the guy in wood sculpture—his stuff sold for wild money. People would kill to be his apprentice.

And she gave it up... all because Ian once said, "Leah, I don't like long-distance relationships."

She thought it meant he couldn't bear being away from her. Thought it was love.

That sweet little lie made it all seem worth it.

Now she knew—he didn't love her. Just her face. The one that looked too much like Cecilia's.

"I'll be there on time in seven days, Prof. Calvo."

She hung up.

Ian had just finished his call, too.

As she walked in and headed upstairs, he said, "To help with the pregnancy prep, Cecilia... she'll be staying in the guest room from now on."

He rushed it out. "Don't take it the wrong way! I don't have a choice. She's a wreck—might do something stupid if she's alone. And... my parents want it, too."

Leah paused. His twitchy look said everything. The corner of her mouth lifted.

"Got it."

What was he scrambling to cover?

Her cool tone made something twist in his chest. Then he noticed her soaked clothes—and remembered.

He was supposed to pick her up. Totally forgot once Cecilia spiraled.

He moved toward her, guilt bubbling—

Then Cecilia threw herself at him.

"Ian, I dreamed of Andrew! He's mad I'm still here. I should've died! Why'd you stop me? Why won't you let me go?"

She bolted.

Ian grabbed her, wrapped her up, voice soft and full of pity. "It was just a nightmare. Nightmares mean the opposite, remember?"

Leah watched them clinging to each other.

She closed her eyes. Just for a second. Then turned and walked upstairs.

Of course he didn't come home that night.

While he was out, Leah pulled her suitcase from the closet and started packing. Quiet, slow. One piece at a time.

By dawn, it was back in the closet. She stepped into the hallway.

Passing the guest room, she stopped cold.

Inside, Ian sat by Cecilia's bed, eyes soft—softer than Leah had ever seen.

Not once. Not for her.

For a second, the last few years flashed through her mind.

Year one—she had a 102 fever, could barely stand. He left after one call. Said it was work. She heard Cecilia's voice in the background.

Year two—business dinner. She got pushed into drink after drink, ended up with a bleeding stomach. Ian disappeared halfway through—another message from Cecilia.

Year three. Four. Five...

Same script, every time.

She used to think it was all just bad timing.

Now she saw it clear.

Tears welled up, but she wiped them away before they fell.

Seven more days. Then she'd be gone.

***

At breakfast, Ian and Cecilia were already out.

Leah headed to her atelier, just picked up her carving knife when her phone lit up—Cassie.

[Leah! You won't believe this! I just saw Ian with his sister-in-law at the fertility clinic! Didn't his brother just die?! What's going on?!]

Photos popped up right after—every angle.

Ian had his arms around Cecilia, looking every bit the doting husband.

A sharp hiss—

Leah's carving knife slipped, slicing across her hand before she even realized it.

Blood dripped from her palm—straight onto the wooden sculpture at her feet.

It was Ian. She'd carved it herself.

He used to tease, "Can't live without me, huh?"

"Mm. You have to keep me company while I work."

Now, staring at the blood-smeared thing, Leah picked it up, walked outside, and dumped it in the trash.

She'd never need him again.