Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The First Goodbye

Erin’s resolve to focus on herself felt fragile, like a small flame flickering in the wind. When Lucas called that evening, it was as if a gust threatened to extinguish it entirely.

His name lit up her screen, and for a moment, she froze. The familiar mix of excitement and dread churned in her stomach. Her thumb hovered over the green icon. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t go back to him—not yet, not while she was still finding her footing.

But the silence was unbearable.

She answered.

“Erin,” Lucas said, his voice warm and smooth, the way it always was when he wanted to pull her back in. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

There was a pause, just long enough to make her uneasy. “I wanted to check in on you,” Lucas continued.

“See if you’re ready to move past… whatever this is.”

The words stung more than she expected. Her chest tightened. “It’s not just ‘whatever this is,’ Lucas,” she said softly.

“Then what is it?” he snapped, his warmth cooling instantly. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

The dismissiveness in his tone sparked something in Erin—an anger she wasn’t used to feeling when it came to him. “I’m not blowing it out of proportion. I just… I need time to figure out what I want.”

“What you want?” Lucas let out a sharp laugh. “Erin, come on. We’ve been together for years. What’s there to figure out?”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Lucas. Maybe I need to figure out who I am outside of this relationship. Outside of you.”

“Outside of me?” His voice rose, incredulous. “What does that even mean? I’ve been nothing but supportive—”

“Supportive?” Erin’s voice cracked, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you even hear yourself? You make me feel like I’m too much, like I have to tiptoe around you just to keep the peace.”

“Because you are too much sometimes!” Lucas shot back. “You always need so much—attention, reassurance, constant validation. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

His words hit her like a slap. Erin felt the familiar sting of shame rising in her chest, but this time, it wasn’t enough to silence her.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to feel like I’m never enough for you?” she countered, her voice trembling. “I’ve spent years trying to be what you want, and it’s still not good enough.”

Lucas scoffed. “This is ridiculous. You’re acting like a victim. If you’re unhappy, that’s on you, not me.”

“Maybe it is on me,” Erin said, her voice breaking. “Maybe I let this go on for too long. But I can’t do it anymore, Lucas. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

For a moment, the line was silent. Erin’s heart pounded as she waited for his response, half-hoping he’d apologize, that he’d say something to make her doubt herself.

Instead, he let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. Do whatever you want, Erin.”

The line went dead.

Erin stared at her phone, her hands trembling. The silence that followed felt deafening, pressing in on her from all sides. For years, Lucas had been her anchor, her constant, the person she turned to when everything else felt unsteady. Now, that anchor was gone, and she was left adrift.

Her first instinct was to call him back, to apologize, to take it all back. Her fingers hovered over his name, but something stopped her.

His words echoed in her mind. “You’re too much. You’re acting like a victim.”

Her chest ached, but this time, the pain wasn’t just about losing Lucas. It was about the realization that she had been losing herself, piece by piece, for years.

She curled up on the couch, clutching her journal like a lifeline. The words she’d written earlier that week came back to her: Maybe I don’t have to decide all at once. Maybe I can start by figuring out who I am when I’m not chasing after him.

She repeated them to herself like a mantra, her voice shaky but determined. She wasn’t sure if she believed them yet, but she was willing to try.

For the first time in years, Erin chose herself. And even though it hurt more than she thought it would, she knew it was the only way forward.

The next morning, Erin awoke to a strange sense of quiet. The absence of Lucas’s texts, the phone calls she would have usually returned immediately, left a hollow space in her life. She got out of bed, forcing herself to move, to do something productive.

That afternoon, she found herself walking through the park again, her sketchbook in hand. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows over the path. It was peaceful, almost surreal, the weight of the morning’s fight still heavy on her mind.

As she passed the fountain, she noticed the small bird perched on the edge, its feathers puffed up against the cold. She paused, struck by the simplicity of its existence—small, fragile, yet unwavering in the wind.

She took a seat on a nearby bench, pulled out her sketchbook, and began to draw. Her hand moved instinctively, her pencil creating a detailed portrait of the bird. She focused on the lines, on the way the bird’s body curved, the way the light hit its feathers. The process was familiar, soothing even, and for a moment, Erin could forget about everything else.

By the time the sun had set, she had finished the drawing, the bird captured in the stillness of the evening. She looked at it, a sense of accomplishment blooming in her chest. The fight with Lucas, the doubts, the fear—none of it seemed so important in that moment.

For the first time in a long while, Erin allowed herself to feel a quiet pride. It wasn’t just about the art. It was about the act of creating something for herself, without needing anyone else’s approval.

She wasn’t sure where this path would lead, but for the first time, she felt like she was walking it alone, and that was okay. She could be whole on her own.

The following days unfolded in a series of small, tentative steps forward. Erin had never been good at being alone, never known what to do with herself without the constant pull of Lucas’s needs. But now, she filled her time with things that made her feel herself—mornings spent walking through the park, afternoons sketching, and evenings journaling.

One evening, as the rain pattered softly against her window, Erin received a text from Mia:

“How are you holding up?”

Erin smiled, surprised at how much the simple message meant to her. Mia had been one of the few people who had never expected anything from her—never tried to change her, to make her feel less than she was.

“Better than I expected,” Erin replied.

Within moments, Mia texted again: “Proud of you. Let me know if you need a reminder of how awesome you are.”

Erin laughed softly, the tension in her chest easing. She didn’t reply, but the message stayed with her, a reminder that she wasn’t alone, that she had worth independent of anyone else’s opinion.

A week later, Erin found herself standing outside a small art supply store, the bell above the door ringing as she stepped inside. She hadn’t been here in years, but something inside her urged her to enter.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, the familiar smell of paper, ink, and paint enveloped her. She smiled to herself, feeling like she was returning home.

Behind the counter, the owner, Mrs. Campbell, looked up with a surprised smile. “Erin? Is that really you?”

“It’s me,” Erin said, her voice full of nostalgia. “It’s been a while.”

Mrs. Campbell’s eyes twinkled as she walked over. “Well, you’ve been missed around here. What can I help you with today?”

Erin glanced at the shelves, her eyes landing on the sketchbooks. She had come in for supplies—something she’d stopped thinking about in the haze of her past life.

“I’m just… looking,” she said. “I’ve started drawing again.”

Mrs. Campbell nodded approvingly. “You’ve got a good eye, Erin. Don’t let that talent go to waste.”

Erin smiled, feeling a sense of encouragement she hadn’t realized she needed. “Thanks. I think I’ll take one of those sketchbooks.”

Mrs. Campbell led her to the back, returning with a leather-bound sketchbook. “Try this one,” she said, handing it to Erin. “It’s perfect for experimenting. I think it’s what you need.”

Erin held the book, running her fingers over the smooth surface. She didn’t know why, but she felt a sense of peace settle in her chest. It wasn’t just about the sketchbook—it was about the realization that she could still be creative, still be whole, on her own.

She paid for the sketchbook and walked out of the store, the weight of it in her hand grounding her. This was the start of something new, something just for her. And no one could take that away.

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