The next morning, Amara packed her suitcase in silence.

The hotel room felt colder than usual, as if even the walls knew she was leaving for good. Outside, the sky was gray, heavy with rain. The same rain that had followed her the night before.

She folded her clothes slowly, one by one. Every piece reminded her of a different version of herself — the wife, the woman, the fool who believed in love that never really loved her back.

When she zipped her suitcase, her hands trembled. But her face stayed calm.

This time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t cry.

At the airport, she wore large sunglasses to hide...