Sasha hadn't expected to still be breathing.

That hospital stink—disinfectant and cold metal—hit her first. She blinked up at the ceiling, brain foggy, limbs dead weight.

The doctor hovered nearby, sounding way too relieved. "We fought over ten hours to keep you alive. Good thing you woke up."

Her eyes twitched. Voice rough. "Thanks for not giving up."

He nodded, then paused. "The people who brought you in... were they your real parents?"

Her lips parted like she might answer—then nothing. Just silence.

The doctor caught the look on her face and backed off. Didn't push it. Just sighed and walked out.

Two days passed. No visitors. No texts. Just her and the quiet hum of machines.

Then discharge day hit, and guess who finally showed? Donald and Diana. Not with flowers. Not with a "how are you." Just this:

"Mira's wedding's tomorrow. You said you'd leave, so don't be here when it starts."

Their voices? Flat. Like it was a business meeting.

Sasha just nodded.

When Sasha didn't argue, their faces finally relaxed.

"For your sister's sake, just step aside," Donald said. "Once things settle and they have a kid, we'll bring you back. The family'll be whole again. We transferred money to your card. Take care in Inglane."

Then they left. Off to dote on Mira.

Sasha watched them go, pulled the Inglane ticket from her pocket—and ripped it to shreds.

She grabbed her phone and booked a flight to Austerra instead.

They wanted her gone? Fine. She'd disappear. Just not the way they expected.

She'd leave so clean, they'd never find her again.

After leaving the hospital, Sasha went straight to a lawyer and filed a formal declaration of estrangement.

She signed it without shaking, slid the papers into a box, then added the old recording she'd made years ago—Vincent telling her stories back at the Scythe house.

She'd tried to give it to him so many times. He never listened. Not once.

Now she was done carrying it.

Whether he ever hit play wasn't her problem anymore.

She was erasing herself from their world.

And this time, no one would find her.

***

That night, the house buzzed with wedding prep. Laughter, music, clinking glass—Sasha barely slept.

She was up early, ate a quiet breakfast, then hauled her suitcase to the trunk.

Right as she was about to leave, the groom's motorcade pulled up.

There he was—Vincent. Sharp suit, cool expression, every inch the perfect groom.

Sasha met his eyes and gave a small nod. "Vincent."

First time she'd ever said his name like that—like a stranger.

Vincent's eyes cut to the car behind her, frown settling in. "You don't have to come to the wedding. Just stay home."

Yeah. They were scared she'd ruin it all.

Sasha didn't flinch. She handed over the gift box, voice even. "I'm not crashing your wedding. I'm not messing with your happiness. I just wanted to say... congrats. Goodbye."

She turned, got in the car, and shut the door without looking back.

Vincent stood there, heart pounding as the engine roared to life.

Something in him panicked—he wanted to stop her, ask where she was going, what she meant by 'goodbye.'

But before he could say a word, Mira's voice cut through the morning.

"Vincent, hold me!" she chirped, all dressed in white.

Through the rearview mirror, Sasha caught it—Vincent, grinning as he chucked the box to his assistant like it was nothing. Then he turned, all charm, and swept Mira up in his arms.

As the car eased out of the neighborhood, Sasha rolled down the window and flung her phone into the wind.

That version of her? Gone.

She wasn't that girl anymore.

The new Sasha was done waiting—and she was done being found.