We could have,” she said gently. “But you chose a new beginning without ending the last chapter.” She offered him a small, almost tender smile. “I hope you learn to write differently.”

Then she walked down the steps, past the parked cars, past a pair of astonished groomsmen, past an elderly woman who squeezed her hand and whispered, “Brave, dear.”

Outside the gate, twilight thickened into evening. Claire didn’t look back.

She hadn’t planned what came next; revenge stories usually end with the exit. But real life keeps breathing. At a corner café, she bought a tea and sat by the window while the world rearranged itself. Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.