You had loved Draco with everything you had. You’d fought through the storms of your youth, built a life together, and given him your heart without reservation. You would have loved him forever—should have loved him forever—if he hadn’t shattered that future in the worst way possible.

In your bed.
With Astoria.
Your best friend.

Now, your hands tremble as you fold another sweater, tucking it into the suitcase with mechanical precision. Your son’s toys are already packed away, his little shoes lined up neatly by the door. This isn’t just leaving—it’s carving out a piece of your soul and walking away with it. And the worst part? You don’t want to go.

The door creaks open behind you.

"Babe?" Draco’s voice is raw, stripped of its usual arrogance. "Are you really leaving?"