Chapter 5

Autumn's POV

The weather was beautiful on the day I was discharged.

I packed a small overnight bag myself. Having just miscarried, I was still terribly weak.

Walking out of the inpatient entrance, I saw Ethan's car idling at the bottom of the steps.

For a brief, foolish second, a spark of warmth flickered in my chest.

Over the years, whenever I stayed late at the ice rink, that car was always waiting outside. I knew its parking spot by heart; I knew the exact angle of its headlights.

I thought he was here to pick me up.

Only when I walked closer did I see Brenda sitting in the passenger seat, peeling an orange with her head down.

Ethan stepped out of the driver's seat and casually opened the rear door, gesturing for me to get in.

"Get in."

I stood frozen.

His expression remained completely flat. "Brenda has a follow-up appointment today. I can drop you off along the way."

So the car hadn't stopped for me after all.

I climbed inside and sat in the far corner of the back seat.

The entire drive, Ethan chatted softly with Brenda up front.

"Eat slowly."

"If your check-up goes well, I'll take you to see your mother next week."

"Did you sleep well last night? Your neck seemed stiff. I'll massage it for you when we get home."

He spoke with a gentleness so tender it could melt ice.

Years ago, he used to speak to me the exact same way. The same bottomless patience, right down to the words "eat slowly."

That was simply how he spoke to whoever sat in his passenger seat.

I didn't utter a single sound, keeping my face turned toward the window.

Halfway through the trip, Brenda suddenly gasped, slapping her forehead. "Oh no! I left that thermos at the hospital—the one I packed for my mom!"

Ethan immediately signaled and pulled over to the curb.

Before I could process what was happening, he had already opened my door. "Get out."

"What?"

"Brenda needs to go back for her things. I'm leaving you here," he said plainly, as if commenting on the weather. "It's not far from your place. You can walk the rest of the way."

I turned to look at him.

The May sun was blazing, turning the asphalt soft and sticky. There wasn't a taxi in sight, nor a single tree to offer shade.

I had just walked out of a hospital bed, and my bag was still sitting in his trunk.

"Ethan, I was just discharged."

"Yeah," he replied dismissively. "Take your time walking."

He didn't bother getting my luggage out.

That little suitcase, along with the change of clothes from my hospital stay, stayed locked in his trunk.

Brenda turned around from the passenger seat, offering me a polite smile that never reached her eyes.

As the car accelerated away, the dust it kicked up coated my clothes.

Standing on the scorching pavement in just my thin hospital jacket, I watched the black sedan shrink into a speck in the distance.

I stood there, refusing to chase it.

Over the years, I had waited for that car countless times—confidently, taking it entirely for granted.

Today, I finally saw my true place in it: shoved into the furthest corner of the back seat, discarded by the roadside whenever convenient.

So, I would stop waiting.

Holding onto the street railing, I dragged myself forward, step by step.

Cars zoomed past; not a single one slowed down.

My suitcase remained in his trunk, holding the last few remnants of my life in that house.

I wasn't going back for it.

By the third traffic light, I stopped, leaning against the pole to catch my breath. I watched the pedestrian signal switch from green to red, red to green, letting three full cycles pass before I could force my feet to move again.