The hall stretched out in front of her like an endless tunnel. Every step Althea took seemed too loud.
He wasn't rushing. That was the worst part. His pace was steady, unhurried, as though nothing in the world had shifted. But to her, everything had.
Her chest felt tight, words pressing at her throat, but every time she tried to form them, they dissolved into air.
"Max—"
It was barely a whisper, a crack in the silence. Her voice didn't carry, not really. Still, he slowed just enough for her to catch up, though he didn't turn his head.
The phone felt heavy in her palm. She should've thrown it away the second the notification appeared, should've deleted the message before his eyes flickered toward it. The words haunted her anyway. I have everything ready for the divorce. Just need your final confirmation to proceed.
She bit her lip, desperate to speak. "That message. it's not what you think. It's…" Her voice wavered. She didn't even know what she was trying to say. That she hadn't told the lawyer to stop? That she'd forgotten this was meant to be temporary? That for one stupid moment she'd let herself believe otherwise?
Her steps faltered when Max stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his back still to her. She half-expected him to turn and unleash everything he was holding back; anger, accusation, anything.
But when he did finally turn, it was worse.
He was smiling. Not the crooked, teasing smirk that infuriated her. Not the rare, unguarded laugh that slipped out when he forgot himself. No. This smile was soft. Patient. Gentle in a way that shattered her.
"You don't have to explain," he said quietly. His voice was steady, calm, almost kind.
Her chest ached. "But I want to."
Max tilted his head slightly, like he was indulging a child insisting on something unnecessary. For just a second, something flickered in his eyes. Hurt, maybe, or understanding; but it was gone before she could name it.
"Finish your painting," he said, his tone carefully light. "The colors are drying. Don't let me interrupt again."
It was too kind. Too careful. And that made it unbearable.
Her throat burned. She gulped her tears. "Max, please—"
But he was already moving, already walking away with that same measured pace, as though her words couldn't catch him anymore.
Althea stood frozen in the hallway, watching his retreating figure blur behind her tears. She wanted to scream at him, wanted to run and grab his arm, force him to see that she hadn't chosen this, that she wasn't ready for this ending even if she'd signed her name to it months ago.
But her body betrayed her. Her hands trembled, her legs wouldn't move. The words she needed. The truth, the plea; they withered on her tongue.
When the sound of his footsteps finally faded, she felt the silence close in around her like a suffocating blanket.
Her room greeted her with the same stillness as before, the half-finished skyscape standing proudly on its easel by the window. The colors she had blended so carefully, violet, indigo, peach, now looked wrong, mocking. She could still hear Max's voice teasing her about her "awkward potato cloud," still see him holding out slices of mango with that maddening patience, still feel the warmth of his presence beside her.
The contrast was unbearable.
She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving. Her phone was still clutched in her fist, the text glowing on the screen like a wound that refused to close.
Her knees gave way. She sank to the floor, pressing her forehead against her drawn-up knees, curling in on herself like she could fold small enough to escape the weight crushing her.
Tears came hot and furious, spilling down her cheeks before she could stop them. She hated crying. Hated the sound of it, the weakness of it. But she couldn't hold it in anymore.
The sobs ripped through her, muffled against her arms. She had thought she was past this, past the phase of falling apart every time reality reminded her of what she had agreed to. But Max's smile…that smile had undone her.
Because it wasn't anger. It wasn't hurt flung back in her face. It was acceptance.
And that was worse.
If he had shouted, if he had accused, she could have fought back. She could have argued, insisted, made him understand. But a quiet smile left her with nothing. It told her that he'd already let go, already braced himself for the inevitable truth: she didn't belong here.
Her chest tightened. She remembered the way his eyes had softened earlier. The way he called her, his voice slipping past his own walls.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
End of Chapter 55.