He left me hanging, so I disappear forever

After I slapped Naomi, she started crying immediately, clutching her cheek like I’d done something unspeakable.

“How dare you?” Oliver yelled, stepping in front of her. He shoved me back with enough force to make me stumble.

“How dare you hurt Naomi! She just got out of the hospital!”

I straightened, glaring at him. “Of course, you’d defend her,” I said sharply. “That’s all you ever do. I’m done with this, Oliver. I’m done with you. If you want her so badly, go be with her. We’re over.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t break up with me. You can’t live without me.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “No, Oliver. You’re the one who can’t live without me. And I’ll prove it.”

I turned to leave, my bag in hand. As I reached the door, I heard him behind me, his voice calm and dismissive as he spoke to Naomi. “Don’t worry, she’ll get over it. She always does. Just like before. It’s just another one of her tantrums.”

His words hit me harder than anything else that night. For a moment, I froze, remembering all the times I’d been like that—angry at him, only to apologize later, even when he was at fault. I had always come back, always forgiven him.

At first, I thought Oliver loved me. I really did. He used to hold my hand in crowded rooms, kiss my forehead when I felt insecure, and tell me I was the most important person in his life. There were moments when I believed we were perfect—like the time he surprised me on my birthday with a picnic at the park or when he spent an entire day helping me study for my finals. I thought he cared, thought he wanted me in his life.

But over time, cracks started to show. Little things. Like how he’d dismiss my feelings when I was upset. “You’re overreacting, Hannah,” he’d say, or, “It’s not that big of a deal.” And when I’d get mad, he’d twist it around, making it feel like it was my fault. I started to doubt myself, questioning whether I was too emotional or needy.

I didn’t even realize it at first, but everything about us became convenient—for him. I was there when he needed support, when he needed someone to stroke his ego, but when I needed him, he always had an excuse. And somehow, he always made me feel like I was the problem.

Looking back, I didn’t even know why I stayed for so long. Maybe I was holding on to the memory of who I thought he was. Maybe I thought I didn’t deserve better. Maybe I was just scared to leave.

Not this time.

This time, I wasn’t going to let him pull me back in. I wasn’t going to apologize for being hurt, for standing up for myself, for finally realizing I deserved more than what he was giving me. He could think I was throwing a tantrum all he wanted. This was different. This was final.

I walked out without looking back. A sleek black limousine was waiting for me outside, my mother’s driver stepping out to open the door. Without hesitation, I climbed in, my resolve hardening with every mile we drove.

When I arrived at the police station, the officers greeted me and told me they had the man in custody. My stomach churned as I stepped into the room to face him.

The man was sitting there, looking smug until I sat down across from him. Then his face faltered. When I asked him why he had hurt me, his response chilled me to the bone.

“It was Naomi Benneth,” he said. “She paid me to do it. Told me to make you suffer… and to kill the baby so you won’t have something to hold on with Oliver.”

I stared at him, my blood running cold. “Naomi?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He nodded, his tone casual, like he was recounting something trivial. “She wanted you gone, said you were ruining things. So, yeah, she set it all up.”

The room felt like it was spinning. Naomi had done this to me. She had orchestrated everything. She had ruined my life.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. “Make sure Oliver Miller gets this information,” I told the police. “Send him every detail.”

The officers nodded, assuring me they would handle it. I walked out of the station, feeling both hollow and determined.

Later that evening, as I was at the airport preparing to board my flight, my phone rang. It was Oliver.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice frantic.

I held the phone to my ear, my expression calm despite the storm inside me. “I’m going somewhere you’ll never find me,” I said, my tone flat and final.

Before he could respond, I hung up and blocked his number.

I boarded the plane with no intention of ever looking back.