It was all her fault. Everything that happened—she was the one to blame.
If Sean had never met her, he wouldn’t be in this state now.
Claire wiped away her tears, her gaze fixed on Sean as if she was trying to etch his face onto her very soul.
After a long moment, she finally turned away, reluctant to leave. Limping, she walked out of the room.
Sean, I’m so sorry. I can’t even say goodbye to you.
Because if I tried to, you’d never let me go.
So, this is the only way—I have to disappear without a word.
Once outside the hospital, Claire found a small gardening supply store and stepped inside.
“I need a bottle of weed killer,” she said.
The clerk glanced up and down at her—she was wearing a patient’s gown, painfully thin, limping, her face almost ghostly pale, eyes glazed and lifeless. She looked as if she were on death’s door.
Immediately, the clerk’s suspicions were aroused.
This girl clearly wasn’t here to tend her roses—what if she was planning to drink the stuff and end her life?
Alarmed by the thought, the clerk shook his head. “Sorry, miss, I can’t sell that to you.”
“Why not?” Claire asked.
The clerk tried to smile, but it came out awkward. “We just can’t take that risk.”
Claire stood there for a moment, lost.
Of course. Looking like this, anyone would think she wanted to poison herself.
She left the store, feeling hollowed out. Passing by the shop’s window, she caught her own reflection—disheveled, defeated, barely recognizable as human.
Staring at herself, a bitter sadness welled up inside. How had things gotten so bad? How had she let herself fall this far?
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