This house, which was never truly mine, was now devoid of any trace of me. The compound sat quiet in the early hours, its marble floors and heavy curtains holding nothing of mine between them.
In the end, only the tickets I had carefully kept as a diary of love remained. Concert stubs. Ferry passes. A crumpled boarding pass from the night he met me at the Palermo airport and carried my bag without being asked.
With a moment's hesitation, I threw each one into the fire.
Each ticket consumed by the flames represented a part of me that loved Ansel. The paper curled and blackened in the study's fireplace, the only warmth that room had offered me in years.
When the burning finally ceased, only a pile of ashes and acrid smoke remained.
It was just like the love I had given over these ten years.
The next morning, the aroma of breakfast woke me up.
"Serafina, hurry up and get ready. I've already made breakfast."
"You go ahead and eat. I'll take breakfast to Elara so you don't have to."
"Okay."
Ansel paused, his hand holding the thermal container. "Don't feel guilty. Elara doesn't blame you."