The lady gave Evelyn a slight pat and left.
Evelyn swallowed hard, tears scalding her cheeks, though she didn't remember letting them fall. She straightened slowly, brushing them away. Her hands trembled.
_____
Evelyn staggered backward, heart pounding, soaked through and shaking. For a moment, she stood there—frozen in the storm, suitcase at her feet, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. The gate mocked her, tall and unyielding, the final boundary between her and the family that had discarded her like trash.
"Not even a call," she whispered. "Not even a call."
She turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last, her heels splashing in puddles as she dragged the suitcase behind her. The wheels jammed in the gravel. It didn't matter. She left it and kept walking.
---
Later that night…
Eleanor's penthouse apartment was warm, sleek, and humming with the soft notes of a jazz piano playing from her smart speaker. The scent of cinnamon tea and bergamot lingered in the air—homey, comforting.
Evelyn stood just inside the door, dripping water onto the marble floor, her clothes plastered to her skin. Eleanor looked up from the kitchen island where she had been typing on her laptop. Her eyes widened.
"Evelyn—what the hell happened?"
"I… I didn't have anywhere else to go."
Eleanor was already on her feet, a blanket in one hand and a towel in the other. She moved like lightning, wrapping the towel around Evelyn's shoulders and guiding her toward the sofa.
"Jesus. You're ice cold. Sit—sit down. I'll get you something dry."
Evelyn obeyed, limbs heavy with exhaustion. She stared at the flickering fireplace across the room. Its flames cast long shadows on the walls, making the place feel both safe and surreal.
Eleanor returned with one of her oversized hoodies and a pair of leggings.
"Here," she said softly. "Go change. I'll heat something up. You look like you haven't eaten in days."
"I haven't."
Eleanor's face tightened, but she said nothing. She just helped Evelyn up and walked her to the guest room.
---
Ten minutes later
Wrapped in dry clothes, hair damp but no longer dripping, Evelyn sat curled on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Eleanor placed a tray of grilled cheese and soup in front of her and sank into the armchair beside her.
"I went home today," Evelyn said finally, voice hoarse.
Eleanor was quiet. She waited.
"They changed the code. Wouldn't even let me speak to them."
Eleanor swore under her breath.
"They really locked you out?"
"Like I never existed." Evelyn's laugh was hollow. "Like I was never their daughter at all."
The silence between them stretched, thick with the weight of Evelyn's grief.
"I thought the worst part was walking in on Daniel and Liliana," she said. "But this… this is worse. I'm not just betrayed—I'm erased."
Eleanor leaned forward. "You are not erased. You are Evelyn goddamn Carter, and you are not going to disappear because your family can't see your worth."
"But I don't feel like her anymore," Evelyn whispered. "I feel… broken. Like all the pieces of who I was are scattered and sharp, and I don't know how to put them back together."
"You don't have to," Eleanor said. "You don't have to be who you were. You just have to survive this long enough to become someone new. Someone stronger."
Evelyn stared at the tea in her hands. The mug was warm, grounding her.
"I cried in the hotel bathroom," she said. "Curled up on the tiles in a wedding dress, sobbing until I couldn't breathe. Then I stood up, fixed my makeup, and walked out like nothing happened."
Eleanor's voice softened. "Because you're a fighter."
"No," Evelyn said. "Because I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. I let it all out behind closed doors. But now… there are no more doors left. I don't even have a house key anymore."
Eleanor reached out and took her hand. "You have this door. Mine. And you're not alone, Evelyn."
For a long time, Evelyn didn't speak. Her eyes glistened, but she didn't let the tears fall.
"I thought I could handle it," she said. "I thought walking away from that wedding would be the hardest thing I'd ever do. But this? Being locked out of my home? Having my mother look through me like I was nothing? My father blaming me for being unlovable? It's like I've been gutted."
Eleanor's grip tightened. "Then we'll sew you back together. Stitch by stitch."
Evelyn finally looked up. "What if I'm too angry to be whole again?"
"Then let the anger sharpen you".
A beat passed. Then another.
And for the first time since everything shattered, Evelyn nodded. Not out of hope. Not yet.
"Alright," she whispered".
____
Evelyn barely slept.
The night had been a blur—gravel beneath her heels, headlights streaking past, her fingers trembling as she rang Eleanor's doorbell like a woman possessed. Her wedding dress was stuffed into a dry-cleaning bag in the corner of the room now, abandoned like the dream it once represented. Her limbs ached, her heart stung raw, and yet, her expression this morning was a practiced mask.
The city outside buzzed louder than usual. She sipped black coffee in Eleanor's kitchen, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Don't turn on the news," Eleanor had warned earlier. "They're circling like vultures."
Evelyn had nodded, numb. But it was already too late.
Outside, the low hum of voices turned into a rising chorus of frenzy.
"They're here," Eleanor muttered, peering through the blinds. Her posture stiffened. "Reporters. About twenty of them. Damn it, I should've known they'd find you here. What do we do now?"
Evelyn didn't flinch. "Of course they did. They always do."
The elevator bell chimed in the hallway. The sound jolted Eleanor into motion.
"Stay here," she ordered, grabbing her coat and sunglasses.
"I'm not hiding," Evelyn said, standing.