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.

In the days that followed, the house became quiet. Ethan and Amelia were often out, sometimes not returning until late at night. I stayed in my room, sketching, reading, preparing for my new life.

My high school graduation party was a week before my flight. I saw it as a final ritual, a farewell to my youth in Boston.

I saw Ethan there. He was with a group of his business partners, a glass of champagne in his hand, looking every bit the powerful CEO he was. Our eyes met for a second, and I quickly looked away.

I overheard some of my classmates whispering.

"Did you hear? Ethan Hayes and Amelia Vance are getting married."

"What about Ava? He's her guardian. Won't he be sad to see her go?"

"I heard him say it himself. She's an adult now. He won't be concerned with her life anymore."

The words didn't hurt. They were just... facts. His world no longer had a place for me, and my world would no longer revolve around him. It was a clean break.

Later, I was getting a drink when a slightly tipsy Ethan appeared in front of me. Before he could speak, Amelia glided to his side, wrapping her arm around his.

"Darling, I was looking for you," she cooed, resting her head on his shoulder.

Ethan's expression softened. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, a gesture of affection he had never shown me. Then, he scooped her up in a princess carry and walked away, leaving me standing there alone.

"Ava, are you okay? You have something in your eye," my friend Chloe asked, noticing my frozen state.

I blinked rapidly, forcing a smile. "It's just an eyelash."

"He used to dote on you so much," Chloe sighed, looking at their retreating figures. "Everyone thought you two would end up together."

"We have our own lives to live," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "We can't be tied to each other forever."

When the party ended, I walked out into the cool night air. Ethan's car was parked by the curb. He and Amelia were waiting.

He got out of the car, his face grim. "It's late, Ava. You shouldn't have stayed out so long."

"Ethan, don't be so harsh," Amelia said, trying to mediate.

It started to drizzle. Ethan immediately opened an umbrella, holding it over Amelia's head, shielding her completely.

I remembered all the times he had held an umbrella for me, his arm protectively around my shoulders.

Now, I stood alone in the rain.

I didn't wait for them. I started walking, my steps steady and sure.

He used to call me his little rose, too fragile to face the world.

But from now on, I would be my own sunflower, always facing the light, even if it meant turning my back on the sun I once worshipped.

The rain left me with a lingering chill, and I spent the next day in bed with a slight fever. I didn't care where Ethan was or if he even noticed my absence at the breakfast table.

My phone buzzed with a new email. It was my flight itinerary from my father.

Departure: June 20th. 9:00 PM.

June 20th. Ethan's birthday.

A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving on his birthday would be my final, silent gift to him. The gift of my complete and utter absence.

I spent the next few days methodically clearing out my room. I packed my art supplies and a few changes of clothes into a new suitcase. Everything else—books, trinkets, furniture I'd grown up with—I arranged to have donated.

On the evening of the 19th, Ethan came home alone. He found me in the living room, surrounded by boxes.

"What's all this?" he asked, a slight frown on his face. He seemed to look at me differently now, as if seeing a stranger.

"I'm cleaning out some old things," I said, not looking up from the box I was taping shut.

"Amelia and I have moved into our new apartment downtown," he said, his voice flat. "The house will be empty most of the time."

It was his way of telling me I'd be alone. It was meant to be a punishment, or perhaps a test. It felt like freedom.

I finally looked at him. "Can I come to your birthday party tomorrow?"

He seemed taken aback by the question. A cold mask settled over his features. "It's just a small gathering with friends, Ava. You wouldn't enjoy it."

He rejected me without a second thought. Then he turned and went to his study, closing the door behind him.

My body trembled, and a burning sensation pricked my eyes. I walked over to the charity donation bin at the end of the driveway. Peering inside, I saw it—the sketchbook I'd thrown away with my other belongings. It was filled with hundreds of portraits of him.

I pulled it out, the rain-soaked pages soft and warped.

With deliberate strokes, I began to sketch on the last empty page. This time, it wasn't just him. It was a portrait of him and Amelia, smiling, the perfect couple. I poured every last ounce of my unrequited love, my decade of devotion, into the lines and shadows. I would scrape this love from my soul, even if it left me raw and bleeding.

Late that night, I heard his car pull up. He came in, stumbling slightly. He was drunk.

I moved to help him, a reflex born of years of habit. "Ethan, you're drunk."

He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. He pulled me close, his face buried in my hair. His breath was hot against my skin, reeking of alcohol.

"Amelia..." he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

Then, his lips crashed down on mine.