I was folding the last of my clothes into a suitcase when the doorbell rang. I hesitated—maybe it was Scott? I checked my phone. No missed calls. With a sigh, I trudged to the door.

A large white box sat at the doorstep, tied with a gold ribbon. It was addressed to me. No note. Just my name in thick, calligraphic letters.

Curious, I brought it inside and slowly opened the lid.

And my heart nearly stopped. It was the gown. My gown.

The very design I had sketched years ago—the one I had dreamed of wearing if Troy and I ever had the wedding we never did. The ivory silk shimmered under the light, and the delicate lace sleeves were just as I envisioned. I reached for the bodice, fingers trembling. There was a tag stitched inside the fabric.

TAYLOR — hand-embroidered in gold thread.

Tears welled in my eyes.

Could it be? Could this be Troy’s way of making it up to me?

After everything—the distance, the betrayal, the hurt—was he finally ready to make things right? To finally give me the wedding he once said we didn’t need? Was this his silent apology?

For a moment, I let myself believe. I stepped into the gown, holding my breath as the fabric hugged me like it was meant for me all along. I turned slowly to the mirror, hands pressed to my chest, eyes misted with fragile hope.

And then the door flung open.

“Taylor—what the hell are you doing?!”

I flinched.

Troy stood at the doorway, face twisted in shock and fury. Before I could speak, he marched toward me and yanked the gown roughly off my shoulder, nearly tearing it.

“Why are you wearing that?!”

“I—” I stammered. “Isn’t this for me? It has my name… it’s the design I made, the one I always dreamed of. I thought—are we finally getting married?”

His laugh was cold. Cruel.

“Married? Are you insane? We are married.”

“But then… why this?” I whispered.

“It’s for Vanessa,” he snapped, brushing the fabric like I had stained it. “She always dreamed of a wedding. A real one. We’re giving it to her. It’s the least we could do. She’s sick.”

I stood frozen, unable to process it.

“She’s sick,” he repeated, as if that alone justified everything. “She wants to wear the gown, walk down the aisle and marry as she should have been five years ago. This was her dream.”

“But it’s my dream too,” I said quietly. “It was my design. Why use it for her when it was mine?”

Just then, Travis and Van entered the room.

“What’s all this yelling?” Travis asked, then scoffed when he saw the scene. “Oh, come on, Taylor. You’re not sick. Let her have this… and she likes your gown. You can design again.”

Van nodded. “You always make things about you. Just give her this moment. At least she deserves it.”

“She deserves my dream?” I choked out.

Vanessa stepped into the room, wrapped in her usual soft blanket like a fragile flower. “I’m sorry, sister. I just… I just want to get married. Walk the aisle once before… you know.” Her eyes watered as she looked at me with that same pitiful expression she always used to get what she wanted. “Please, I won’t take him forever. Just a moment. Just let me borrow your husband.”

I stared at them. At all of them.

“You all truly disappoint me,” I whispered.

Vanessa flinched.

“Do whatever you want,” I said. “Have your wedding. Steal my dress. Borrow my husband. Take it all.”

I turned and walked away. My steps were numb, but my chest burned.

Back in my room, I opened every drawer, every closet. I pulled out memories, clothes, old photos—every trace of the girl I used to be. And then I carried them outside, one by one. Into the metal barrel behind the house.

And I set them on fire.

The smoke curled up toward the sky like lost dreams disappearing. I watched the flames devour the photos of me and Troy, the love letters, the sketches of wedding gowns I once hoped to wear. I remembered how my brothers used to promise they'd protect me. How I thought I had a place in this family. How Vanessa used to cling to me, claiming I was her favorite sister.

Lies. All of it.

And as the last page of my sketchbook crumbled to ash, I felt arms wrap around me from behind.

“Tay… please,” Troy’s voice was low, breath warm against my ear. “I’m sorry. I know this hurts. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Just… do this for her. She’s sick. You’re stronger. I know you are.”

I didn’t speak.

“How about this,” he whispered. “Let’s go on a date tomorrow, just the two of us. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

I was too tired to fight.

“…Okay,” I said numbly.

“Thank you,” he breathed, kissing the top of my head.

That night, I finally closed my eyes, hoping for sleep to give me peace.

But just as I started to drift—

“TAYLOR! WAKE UP!”

I jolted. Troy stood over me, eyes frantic. “We need your blood. Now. Your sister needs a transfusion. You’re a match!”

“What?” I gasped.

“She’s fading fast,” he said, already dragging me from the bed. “Don’t be selfish, Taylor. Be useful for once. Be her blood bank.”

“No,” I said firmly, pulling my arm away. “I won’t donate my blood to her.”

Troy’s eyes darkened. “Taylor, don’t start this again. She has leukemia. She needs blood. You’re a match.”

“That’s not my fault,” I said, standing my ground. “She’s not the only one hurting here.”

Travis stepped forward. “Why are you always so selfish? You know she’s dying!”

“She’s not dying,” I snapped. “She’s faking it like she always has. She used to do this when we were kids just to get out of chores.”

Van raised his voice now. “Enough! You’re being ridiculous.”

And before I could take another breath, the three of them had grabbed my arms. I fought back, I really did—but I was weak, still recovering, and outnumbered. They hauled me into the car like a prisoner, drove me straight to the hospital.

Within the hour, they had strapped me in, ignored my pleas, and took as much blood as they could. I watched the bags fill with crimson, watched the nurses shake their heads at the number of vials ordered.

Then, everything faded. Darkness took over.

When I woke up, my body felt hollow—drained, cold, and sore. My vision blurred before it settled on the face I least wanted to see.

Vanessa.

She sat at the edge of the hospital bed, holding a tray of food. “You’re awake,” she said gently. “I brought you something to eat.”

I blinked, and for a moment, my heart wanted to believe she meant it.

Until I remembered everything. I pushed the tray off the bed. The plate clattered to the floor.

The door burst open. Troy. Van. Travis.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Travis barked. “She brought you food!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Troy added. “She’s trying to fix things and you act like this?”

“She forced me to give blood!” I screamed. “You all did!”

“Taylor…” Vanessa said softly. “Please, don’t be like this. You’re my sister. I just wanted to make things right.”

She leaned in to hug me. Her lips close to my ear.

“You see now?” she whispered sweetly. “They don’t want you anymore. So behave.”

I froze.

Troy glared at me. “Apologize. Right now.”

My lips trembled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Taylor,” Van said, voice dripping with warning.

I swallowed back everything I wanted to say. “Fine,” I muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Not because I meant it.

But because I was too tired to fight.

They all nodded, satisfied. As if I were a misbehaving child finally brought to heel.

I closed my eyes and turned away from them. Pretending to sleep. Pretending not to hear Vanessa’s fake sobs or my brothers comforting her. I stayed that way until they left.

Later that night, my phone buzzed.

Scott: Tomorrow is the day. Still ready?

I stared at the message and replied: Yes.

The next morning, I didn’t want to leave the hospital. My body was sore, my heart even more so. Every part of me screamed not to go—but Troy had insisted.

“We need this,” he told me flatly, not asking but commanding. “You owe it to Vanessa and the rest of us to stop acting like a child. You said yes to the date—so go.”

And so I went. Not because I wanted to.

But because saying no would only bring more blame, more shouting, more guilt shoved down my throat like medicine I never asked for.

I wore a soft dress—the same one I had worn on our first date, back when I still believed in things like love and forever. Back when Troy held my hand like it was a promise, not a burden. Back when I thought I mattered.

He said we’d meet at the restaurant. Just the two of us. To make things right.

So I waited. I arrived early, unsure if I was hoping he would show… or hoping he wouldn’t.

The waitress brought me water. Then asked again if I wanted to order.

But minutes passed. Then an hour.

The waitress came by, offering water and a strained smile. I gave her the same in return and politely declined to order. “I’m waiting for someone,” I said, forcing a smile. “He’ll be here soon.”

But he wasn’t. Neither was Travis. Nor Van.

I checked my phone. Nothing. I waited another hour. Still nothing.

The glass of water had gone warm. The restaurant had changed its playlist three times. My back was aching from sitting too straight, too long. I stared at the door, every time thinking—maybe now.

Maybe now, he’ll come.

Until my phone started vibrating. It was Vanessa. Of course, the reason why he wasn’t here.

Vanessa: Oops. Seems they can’t see you today, sister. They’re occupied—with me. Have fun alone.

I stared at the screen, and their photos together.

Once, I might’ve cried. But not now.

I stood up, head held high, and called over the manager.

“I need to leave something,” I said.

I opened my purse and placed a small bundle of papers on the table.

A copy of our fake marriage certificate. The hospital report of our baby’s death. And the wedding ring he had given me five years ago.

“If they ever come looking for me,” I said, “give them this. Tell them Taylor Jones is gone.”

I turned and walked out, the bell above the door jingling like the end of a chapter.

Scott was waiting by the sidewalk, just like he said he would. He stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Ready?”

I nodded. “More than ever.”

He led me to the car, and together, we drove straight to the airport.

I pulled out my phone, looked at the screen filled with messages from the past—photos, memories, numbers I no longer wanted to remember. I opened the SIM tray. Took it out.

And tossed it into the bin. Gone.

As I boarded the plane beside Scott, a strange calm washed over me.

Tomorrow, when they look for me—when they realize I’m gone—maybe they’ll search for me. But they’ll never find me again.