The clinic was small. Private. The kind of place where no one asked questions if you paid cash.

I lay on my stomach on the examination table. The paper crinkled under me. Every breath pulled at the cuts on my back.

The doctor was an older woman with gray hair pulled tight. She did not speak much. She cleaned the wounds in silence. I felt the sting of antiseptic. I felt her hands, careful and steady.

'How many,' I said. My voice came out flat.

'Lacerations?'

'Yes.'

She paused. 'Twenty-three that broke the skin. More that didn't.'

I closed my eyes. Twenty-three.

'I need documentation,' I said.

'Medical records are automatic—'

'No.' I opened my eyes. I looked at her. 'I need a formal report. Every mark. Every measurement. Photographs. Everything. Printed and stamped.'

She studied my face for a long moment. Then she nodded.

'It will take a few hours.'

'I'll wait.'

She finished bandaging me. She gave me a clean shirt from somewhere. It was too big. I did not care.

I sat in the waiting room while she compiled the report. The lights were too bright. I counted the tiles on the floor. Sixty-four in that section. Forty in the next.

When she came back, she handed me a manila envelope. Thick. Official.

'If you want to press charges—'

'I don't.'

She looked at me. 'You should.'

'I know.'

I stood up. My legs shook but they held. I took the envelope. I asked for a car.

She called one. She did not ask where I was going. That was the only mercy left.

***

I went home. Our apartment. The place that used to be ours.

Deacon was not there. I did not know where he was. I did not call to ask.

I walked through the rooms slowly. My back screamed with every step. I touched things. The couch. The kitchen counter. The bookshelf.

I went to the bedroom. I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed. The one I had been packing in pieces. I added the last of my things. Not much. I did not need much.

I left the clothes he bought me. I left the jewelry. I left the framed photos on the dresser.

I took the envelope. I took my passport. I took the small glass vial I had been saving—the one that still had a single firefly inside, long dead, from the last time we went to Lover's Cliff together.

I set the vial on the kitchen table. Beside it, I placed the medical report. I did not open it. I did not need to. I knew what was inside.

Then I sat down and I waited.

***

Deacon came home just after midnight. I heard his keys. I heard him drop his bag by the door.

He walked into the kitchen. He saw me sitting there. He stopped.

'Hey,' he said. His voice was careful. 'I didn't know you'd be up.'

I looked at him. I did not say anything.

He shifted his weight. 'Look, I know things have been—'

'I want to go to Lover's Cliff,' I said.

He blinked. 'What?'

'Tomorrow night. Just us. Like we used to.'

He stared at me. I watched something move across his face. Confusion. Then relief. Then something that looked almost like hope.

'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'Yeah, okay. That sounds—yeah. I'd like that.'

I nodded. I stood up. I walked past him toward the bedroom.

'Autumn.'

I stopped. I did not turn around.

'I'm glad,' he said quietly. 'I'm glad you're—I don't know. I'm glad.'

I did not answer. I went into the bedroom. I closed the door.

I lay down on my side. The bandages pulled. I stared at the wall until the sun came up.

***

The next evening, I dressed carefully. Jeans. A loose sweater that did not touch my back. I pulled my hair into a low ponytail.

Deacon was waiting by the door. He smiled when he saw me. A real smile. The kind he used to give me.

'Ready?' he said.

I nodded.

We drove in silence. He tried to make conversation a few times. I answered in short sentences. He did not seem to notice. Or maybe he was just relieved I was speaking at all.

When we reached the cliff, he parked at the edge of the overlook. The city spread out below us. Lights like a sea of stars.

He turned off the engine. He looked at me.

'I missed this,' he said softly. 'I missed us.'

I looked out the windshield. 'I need to get something from the trunk.'

'I'll get it—'

'No.' I put my hand on his arm. Gentle. 'Stay here. Watch the fireflies. I'll be right back.'

He smiled. He settled into his seat. 'Okay.'

I got out of the car. I walked around to the back. I opened the trunk.

My suitcase was inside. Packed. Ready.

I took it out. I closed the trunk softly.

I looked back at the car. Deacon was facing forward. Watching the field. Waiting for me.

I turned. I walked down the trail. Away from the cliff. Away from the car. Away from him.

I did not look back.

The taxi was waiting at the bottom of the hill. I had called it that morning. I climbed in. I gave the driver the address of the airport.

'You okay, miss?' he asked.

I looked out the window. The cliff was disappearing behind the trees.

'Yes,' I said.

It was the second biggest lie I ever told.