They all touched their cups together. Skylar instinctively brushed the faint mark on her cheek, and realized it no longer hurt the way it once had.

Some days it stung a little in the sun, yes. But it also reminded her of the exact day she stopped asking permission to save her own life.

That night, once everyone had gone, she locked the front door securely. She walked slowly through the quiet apartment, noticing how the hallway no longer held any hidden threats, how the master bedroom no longer smelled of someone else’s cologne, how the study was full of green plants and neatly arranged folders.

In the kitchen, the new coffee maker still sat in its box, completely unused. Skylar looked at it for a long time. Then she decided to open it.

Not because she’d forgotten what happened—but because she didn’t want to let Derek keep the smell of coffee too.

She made a small cup for herself. She set it carefully on the round table and sat down by the window.