Ethan's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes, but he said nothing.

He simply nodded, his attention already returning to the documents on his desk.

I turned and walked away, my back straight. There was no need to tell him I was leaving. He probably wouldn't care anyway.

Back in my room, I looked at the calendar. June 10th. My flight was in ten days.

Ten days to erase ten years.

I closed the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. Then I pulled out a large, empty suitcase from the closet.

One by one, I started packing away the things Ethan had given me over the years. A Tiffany necklace for my sixteenth birthday. A limited-edition art set for my seventeenth. A designer dress he'd picked out for a party.

My chest felt hollow, a dull ache spreading through my limbs. I bit my lip, forcing the tears back. Crying was a luxury I could no longer afford.

At the bottom of a drawer, my fingers brushed against a stack of leather-bound diaries.

I opened the first one. The entry was from ten years ago, written in a child's clumsy script.

"Today, a handsome big brother came to the orphanage. He said his name is Ethan, and he's going to take me home. He held my hand, and it was so warm. I think I finally have a family again."

I flipped through the pages. They were filled with him.

"Ethan taught me how to sketch today. He said I have talent."

"Ethan stood up to the bullies at school for me. He looked so tall and strong."

"Ethan promised he'd come to my high school graduation. He said he'd be the proudest guardian in the world."

The last entry was from a year ago, the day he announced his engagement.

"He told me not to cross the line. But Ethan, you were the one who drew the line, and you're also the one who keeps moving it further and further away from me."

My hands trembled.

With a deep breath, I started ripping the pages out, two or three at a time. The sound of tearing paper was the only noise in the silent room.

I ripped and ripped until my fingers were sore, until the diaries were nothing but a pile of shredded memories.

I stuffed the paper scraps into a garbage bag, tied it shut, and put it in the suitcase. I zipped it up with a final, decisive tug.

The door to my room opened. It was Ethan, followed by Amelia, who was holding his arm.

"Ava, we're back," Amelia said with a bright smile. She was beautiful, radiating a gentle and sophisticated aura that I could never imitate.

She handed me a small, elegant box. "I brought you some strawberry mousse cake from your favorite bakery."

My favorite. I was allergic to strawberries.

I looked at Ethan. He was looking at Amelia, his expression soft. He had forgotten. After ten years, he had forgotten something so basic.

A dull pain throbbed in my chest, but I managed a smile.

"Thank you, Amelia." I took the box.

"You two should catch up," Ethan said, not looking at me. "I have some work to finish."

He turned and walked toward his study, leaving me alone with his fiancée.

The weight of the cake box in my hands felt heavier than a tombstone.

I didn't sleep that night. I could hear the low murmur of voices from Ethan's study, followed by soft laughter that went on late into the night.

I sat on my balcony, smoking one cigarette after another, watching the glowing embers fade into the darkness.

The next morning, I came downstairs to find Amelia in the kitchen, humming as she arranged flowers in a vase. She looked radiant, like a woman deeply in love.

"Good morning, Ava," she said cheerfully. "I was just talking to Ethan about his birthday party next week. He's turning twenty-nine. We're thinking of a simple dinner with close friends. You'll come, won't you?"

Ethan's birthday. June 20th.

I remembered when I was sixteen, he'd promised me that for his thirtieth birthday, I would be the one to plan the entire celebration.

Now, I wasn't even sure I'd get an invitation.

"I'll see," I mumbled, pouring myself a glass of water.

Just then, Ethan walked in, dressed in a sharp suit. He went straight to Amelia, kissing her on the cheek. "Good morning."

His eyes briefly met mine, cold and distant.

"I'm heading out," I said, wanting to escape.

"Wait," Ethan's voice stopped me. It was flat, devoid of emotion. "The lawyer will call you this afternoon about your student visa. Make sure you answer."

I stiffened. He was already planning for me to leave the country for college. He couldn't wait to get rid of me.

"Don't cause any trouble, Ava. You're not a child anymore," he warned, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He took Amelia's hand, and they walked out together, their figures framed perfectly by the morning sun.

As their car pulled away, the sky opened up, and a sudden downpour began.

I remembered when I was fourteen, I forgot my umbrella and got caught in a storm. Ethan had driven all the way to my school, holding a large black umbrella, and wrapped me in his coat, scolding me for being careless.

Back then, his scolding felt like the warmest embrace in the world.

Now, he held the umbrella for someone else.

I stepped out into the rain, letting the cold water soak me to the bone. I walked without a destination, the rain washing away my unshed tears.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a notification from Instagram.

Ethan Hayes had just posted his first-ever picture. It was a photo of his hand intertwined with Amelia's. The caption was simple: "My future."

My fingers felt numb.

I opened the comment section and, with a strange sense of calm, typed out a reply.

"Congratulations."

It was the last piece of my heart I had left to give him. And now, it was gone too.

I went back to his Instagram profile and tapped the 'Unfollow' button. Then I removed him from my followers. The little blue tick next to his name no longer held any meaning.

A message popped up from Amelia. It was a picture of the two of them at a seaside restaurant, smiling.

"Ethan is so happy," the message read. "Thank you for your blessing, Ava."

I typed back a simple "You're welcome" and put the phone down.

Later, a notification from an old high school group chat appeared. Someone had tagged me.

"@Ava Miller, remember when Mr. Hayes came to our game and the entire girls' team got distracted? Haha! We all thought you two were a couple."

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

I typed a short reply: "He's my guardian. That's all."

That night, I dreamt of the first day I met him. He had stood there, looking down at me with an unreadable expression, a coldness that I mistook for maturity. Maybe if I had seen the indifference in his eyes back then, I wouldn't have fallen into this ten-year-long fantasy.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart aching with an emptiness so profound it felt like a physical wound.

I got out of bed and opened my closet. The designer dress he'd bought me, the scarves, the shoes. All of it had to go.

I pulled out the suitcase again and packed everything. This time, I didn't hesitate. I packed away every gift, every memory, every piece of him that had infiltrated my life.

As I dragged the heavy suitcase to the front door, I saw his car pull into the driveway. He and Amelia got out, laughing about something.

He saw me and the suitcase, and his smile vanished. "Where do you think you're going with that?"

"My dorm," I said calmly. "School starts soon. I'm moving in early."

"Useless things," I heard myself say. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

His jaw tightened. He looked at the suitcase, then at me. Without another word, he picked it up, walked over to the large charity donation bin at the end of the driveway, and dropped it in.

The thud echoed in the quiet evening.

"You're not moving into any dorm," he said, his voice hard as steel. "You will stay here until you leave for college."

He was still trying to control me.

I looked at the donation bin, where ten years of my feelings were now discarded as trash. A cold wave washed over me, extinguishing the last embers of warmth in my heart.

I didn't argue. I just turned and walked back into the house, up to my room.

Behind me, I heard Amelia ask, "Ethan, was that too harsh?"

His reply was distant, carried by the wind. "She's grown up. She needs to learn to let go of childish things."

I closed my door, leaning against it.

He was right.

I had grown up. And I was finally letting him go.