Claire’s grip on me tightened, and in that moment, the choice became clear—not just for her, but for me too. I didn’t look at him again. I didn’t ask permission. “We’re leaving,” I said quietly, turning us both away from the house.
There was a pause—one long, stretched second where the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Claire nodded. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Together, we stepped away from the driveway, from the man in the doorway, from whatever had brought her to her knees in the rain.
We didn’t run. We didn’t need to. Step by step, we moved toward the car, toward something uncertain but undeniably better than what we were leaving behind. The rain kept falling, relentless and heavy, but it no longer felt suffocating. It felt like a kind of cover. A cleansing.
As I opened the passenger door and helped her inside, Claire let out a shaky breath, the first real sign that she was still there beneath the shock and silence. I closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s side. And as the engine turned over and we pulled away, I didn’t look back—because some places, once you leave them, don’t deserve a second glance.
