Letting Go of Love, Choosing Myself

heavy curtains of the carriage's windows were drawn, but the cool night air still managed to sneak through the cracks, brushing against her skin like a whis

n had gone to one of his meetings or disappeared into his study, never to return until morning. But this, this was different. This was an emptiness that stretched far beyon

years being a passive participant in her own life, a pawn in a game that wasn't even hers to play. How was she supposed to navigate the world now that she

es, even her social standing. There was nothing left but her name. And yet, the name that had once opened doors now

wasn't just leaving Cassian. She was leaving the version of herself that had been molded by others, by the expectations and no

ould recognize her. As she stepped out into the cold, crisp night air, her feet hit the ground with an unfamiliar sense of purpose. She was no longer the wife of Cass

wooden floors. The innkeeper, a kindly woman with graying hair, gave her a curious look but said nothing as she led Valeria to a small r

ons, too many decisions, and too many years of pent-up resentment. The weight of it all came crashing down as she lay th

mall window, that Valeria fully realized the truth of her situation. She

at was

o longer confined by the role of the dutiful wife or the woman who lived in the shadows of her family

egan to spark within her. She wasn't just surviving anymore-she was li

e'd meet someone who struck up a conversation, but she kept her answers brief and her head down. She wasn't ready to face the world yet-not completely. She wasn't sure

elf. She would find work, something that would allow her to sustain herself without relying on anyone. The thought of becoming

wasn't grand. But it was hers.

seemed a distant memory. The people were kind, but there was a clear divide between the wealthy visitors passing through an

with chores at the local tavern, learned the ways of the land, and began to adapt. The people gradually accepted her, seeing her as someone who was

erself as a skilled seamstress, her work admired by the villagers for its intricate detail and craftsmanship. The vil

ill lingered in her mind, and though she had sworn to leave it all behind, she couldn't shake the feeling that her pa

ria would close her eyes and wonder if she had truly escaped her past. Or if, like a storm

nce was free. And that,