The day I was discharged, the sun finally broke through.
I finalized my transfer paperwork with the Denver office.
I gave notice on my Seattle apartment.

I packed up every reminder of Liam and dumped it all.
Everything was handled quietly and efficiently.
Two months later, working late in the Denver office, my phone rang.
It was Mom.
"Sophie? Where are you? Your apartment door's locked!"
"Are you here to see me? Or just scouting for Liam? Either way, it's pointless. I won't tell either of you where I am."

Her furious curse about ingratitude crackled down the line.
I had no energy for the fight. I simply hung up.
Winter arrived. I bought turkey on my way home.
I spent the Christmas Eve alone.

It wasn't the crushing loneliness I’d feared.
Curled up in bed watching a movie, I heard the snow – a soft, whispering sound outside.
Swoosh... swoosh...
It was not the relentless rain in Seattle anymore.
I scrambled out of bed and yanked open the blinds.
Flakes painted the world white. A pure, quiet joy bloomed in my chest.
My gaze followed a single flake’s lazy descent.
And my breath caught as I saw it --
Parked under the streetlight below was a familiar black Range Rover. The light insdie was on.
I could just make out the driver’s shoulder, the side of his face.
I snapped the blinds shut.
Liam could find out where I was by asking my colleagues at my old office.
He wouldn’t contact me directly. But he wouldn’t give up.
He was persistent. Just like when he’d pursued me relentlessly back at Stanford.
I was 18 when we met.
He chased me for a solid year.
I finally said yes at my 19. He proposed at my 28.
That same year, I saw him kissing Vivian.
Now, I’m 29.
His persistence would never move me.
From now on, I only wanted to love myself.