"My number. It hasn't changed."

With that, he left.

I stared at the closed door, then collapsed into the chair as if every last bit of strength had drained out of me.

My mother died in my third year behind bars.

I never got to see her one last time before she passed.

But I still remembered the last thing she ever said to me.

She said, "Look ahead. Keep moving forward."

Look ahead. Keep moving forward. Easy words to say. Impossible to live by.

Late summer. Leaves fell from the trees in heavy handfuls, surrendering to the ground.

The me from seven years ago would never have imagined I'd end up sweeping those leaves off the streets.

Autumn was close, but the sun still burned.

I dragged my aching, rusted body along, my vision swimming in and out of focus.

A motorcycle tore past with an ear-splitting screech.

It clipped me as it went, carving a raw red streak across my leg.

I fell to the side of the road. The sting kept firing through my nerves, relentless.

Across the street, a black Bentley sat parked in silence.

Two figures stepped out.

One of them I knew too well. Mason.

And the woman beside him had to be Melody.

Mason held Melody's arm, and the way he looked at her was gentle.

I watched the two of them, and the pain in my right leg vanished. What replaced it was worse. Numbness, and a bitterness so deep it had no bottom.

An invisible hand closed around my heart and squeezed.

Mason turned his head. Our eyes met. But it was nothing more than a passing glance, and then he looked away.

Late that night, I sat on the windowsill, staring at the lonely moon.

It flickered the same way the birthday candles had, seven years ago.

Seven years ago, on Mason's birthday, I waited for him. He didn't come home until the sky turned pale with dawn.

I still caught the scent of women's perfume on his shirt.

I swallowed the hurt. Told myself it was his birthday. I wouldn't fight with him today.

Mason blew out the candles without interest and picked at the meal I'd reheated more times than I could count.

That day, I gave Mason every dollar I had. I invested it all in his company.

I told him, "I believe in your dream more than anyone. I believe in you more than anyone."

I saw his eyes go red and wet. Mason almost never cried.

He pulled me into his arms. He didn't say a word. He just held me, tight.

At the time, I thought I had finally melted through that wall of ice. I thought I'd finally made it into his heart. All those years of waiting had finally paid off.

I had no idea it was the rope that would drag me into the abyss.

After that, I quit my job. I devoted myself entirely to taking care of Mason.

His company grew bigger. More business partners appeared around him.

I loved to eat, and it showed. I was a little heavy, a little loud. The partners looked at me with barely concealed disgust.

But I didn't care. Love was between two people. That was all that mattered.

A year of that life passed before the company ran into trouble.

I was pushed forward, made the legal representative on paper.

They said everything was my doing. They claimed they knew nothing.

I listened to the testimony, my fists clenching on their own, my eyes burning red, locked on Mason.

Mason's face was blank. His eyes were like a dark pool I had never once been able to read.

In seven years of prison, he never came to see me. Not once.

Yet after I got out, this cold, unreadable man told me he felt guilty. That he wanted to make things right.

The thought of it pulled a laugh out of me. A short, hollow sound, nothing close to joy.

I stared at my right leg. The wound was slowly scabbing over, a reminder etched into my skin of everything that had happened.

Two silhouettes walking side by side flashed through my mind, squeezing my heart like a fist.

I didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, my doorbell rang.

Mason. Again.

"Bridget, how's your leg? Let me take you to the hospital."

I looked at that handsome face, and the pain twisted through me so sharply I could barely breathe. I turned away from him and staggered into a chair.

Everything from yesterday flooded back.

A dull, creeping ache coiled through my body.

My eyes burned red. I ground the word out through clenched teeth: "Get out."

Mason acted like he hadn't heard. He walked toward me, reaching down as if to pick me up.

I recoiled from him in an instant, scrambling free. My whole body shook beyond my control as I stared at him. There was nothing left in my eyes but hatred and pain.

"Mason, I'll say it one more time. You feel guilty? You want to make amends? Then go die. That's the best thing you could do for me."

I glared at him, then added:

"I never want to see you again!"

After that day, Mason didn't come back.

Time seemed to crawl. Cold air settled over Ashford City like a slow frost.

I found out about Mason and Melody's engagement from a billboard on the street.

The photo showed a perfect couple, as if they'd been made for each other.

That night, I received a text message.

The contact name was Melody Fox.

"I know everything about what happened between you two back then. You've always been a thorn in Mason's side. Name your price and leave Ashford City."

"Only when you're gone will any of this be over," the next message read.

I stared at the screen, expression blank, and blocked her number.

One day, I was walking down the street as usual when a car pulled up beside me.

The window rolled down.

"Well, well. Bridget Simmons. It really is you. Long time no see."

"You've gotten so thin."

I turned toward the voice. Cedric Finch. Mason's business partner.

"Why are you still hanging around Ashford City?"

I frowned, my voice cold as ice:

"My home is in Ashford City."

Cedric let out a short laugh.

"Home? Isn't your mother dead? What home do you have?"

The words hit me like a slap. I froze where I stood, my eyes flooding red, and I fixed him with a stare so savage he might as well have been looking at something rabid. I didn't blink. I didn't move.

Cedric shifted in his seat, unnerved. He rolled the window up and sped off.