Chapter 7
After Lucien left that day, the silence that filled my apartment felt different. It wasn’t the heavy, suffocating kind of silence I’d lived with for years. It was lighter, like the calm after a storm.
For the first time in so long, I didn’t dread waking up alone.
I threw myself into my work at the design studio, pouring every ounce of pain and hope into my sketches. My creativity bloomed in ways I hadn’t imagined. It was as if I was finally discovering who I was outside of that broken marriage.
Mia noticed the change too. One afternoon, as we wrapped up a project, she smiled and said, “You’re glowing, Aurora. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
I laughed softly. “I’m finally learning to live for myself.”
But healing wasn’t a straight path. Some days, memories of Lucien crept in—his voice, the way he used to smile, the promises that turned into silence. I had to fight the urge to call him, to ask him why. But I knew the answers wouldn’t change anything.
Then one evening, a letter arrived. No return address. Inside was a single page of paper with neat handwriting.
Aurora, I’m sorry for everything. I hope one day you find happiness that I couldn’t give you.
No signature. No explanation.
I folded the letter carefully and placed it in a drawer. It was the last piece of him I would keep.
Life moved on.
I started meeting new people, making friends outside of the old circle. I went out for coffee, to art galleries, even took a weekend trip to the countryside alone.
One day, while browsing in a bookstore, I bumped into someone. He apologized quickly and smiled warmly.
“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, brushing hair from my face.
He introduced himself as Daniel, a photographer. We ended up talking for hours about art, life, and dreams.
For the first time in years, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—a spark.
Maybe this was the beginning of a new chapter.
And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to turn the page.