The decision wasn't easy. It wasn't something I had wanted to make. But watching Amelia—seeing her settle back into the Valemont estate, seeing her smile at him again—I knew I had to leave.

She was happy. And it wasn't my place to stay. A week had passed since we returned. The Valemont estate was the same, yet different. Michael was different. He was trying.

And Amelia. She was allowing herself to believe in him again. She told me about it one morning, in soft, hesitant words, as if she was still trying to make sense of it herself.

"I woke up last night, and he wasn't there."

My chest tightened, a flicker of old anger rising at the thought.

"But then, I saw the light from the hallway," she continued, her voice softer now.

I frowned, waiting.

"I found him in the study," she said, and then, she laughed. A small, almost disbelieving sound.

"He was reading a baby book."

I froze.

"He's trying, Lena. He's... really trying."

She didn't say it, but I could hear the hope laced in her voice. The way she was allowing herself to believe. Maybe... just maybe, they could make this work.

For days, I had wrestled with the thought. I told myself it was fine, that I could stay a little longer, that I needed to watch over her just a bit more. But the truth was, I didn't belong here. This wasn't my place. And the longer I stayed, the harder it became to ignore what I was feeling.

I still didn't know how Amelia was supposed to die in the novel. That truth lingered like a shadow at the back of my mind. I couldn't piece it together, couldn't predict when or how it would happen. But I knew this—if she was happy now, if Michael was finally giving her what she needed, then I didn't have to be so close. I could protect her from afar.

I had done my part. I had changed things, hadn't I? This wasn't like the novel. Michael had realized his feelings earlier this time. He wasn't distant, wasn't waiting for regret to creep in before he acted. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it was the shift that Amelia needed. She wasn't alone. She wasn't suffering. That was enough. It had to be.

And yet... why did it feel so wrong?

Because the moment I admitted that to myself, I knew the truth—I wasn't just here to change the story anymore. I wasn't just here to ensure she survived. I had become part of it. I had become part of her life. And that made leaving unbearable.

And in that moment, I knew. I couldn't stay. Because if I did—I might never be able to leave.

Amelia didn't take it well. Not that I expected her to.

"You're leaving?" Her voice cracked slightly, disbelief shadowing her face.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "Yeah."

"But—why?"

I couldn't answer that. Not in a way that wouldn't hurt her. Not in a way that wouldn't break me.

I shrugged instead, offering a small smile. "You're happy now, Amelia. You don't need me anymore."

Her hands clenched into fists. "That's not true," she whispered.

"Amelia..." I sighed. "You have Michael. Your baby. Your life back. You don't need me hanging around like a ghost from your past."

Her eyes glistened. "But you're not just someone who 'hung around.'"

Her voice shook. "Lena... you were the one who was there when he wasn't."

A sharp pain shot through my chest. I know.

"You were the one who made me laugh again," she said, stepping closer. "The one who never let me feel alone. The one who—"

She stopped herself, inhaling sharply. I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew what she wanted to say. And I couldn't let her say it.

I reached out, squeezing her hand gently. "You'll be fine, Amelia."

Her grip tightened. "But what about me?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. Don't do this, Amelia. She was making this harder. I swallowed down the ache, forcing a chuckle. "You've got Michael. And I'm sure he's not going to mess up again."

She didn't respond right away. Then—her voice came, quiet and uncertain. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

No. But I nodded.

She exhaled, blinking rapidly. And then, I did something I shouldn't have done. Something reckless. Something selfish. I told her the truth.

I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have just walked away. But I couldn't. Not when she was looking at me like that—her eyes wide, desperate, like she could feel the truth coming before I even said it. Like some part of her already knew.

"I'm not who you think I am."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

I met her gaze, my pulse steady, though something in me wavered. "Remember when you asked me who I was?"

A breath left me, slow and controlled. My throat was dry, my fingers tightening at my sides. This was it. No turning back now.

"I'm not the real Lena," I said, my voice firm but low. "I woke up in this body one day. But before that—before I opened my eyes here—I was someone else."

She frowned, tilting her head slightly, waiting for the punchline. But I wasn't joking.

She blinked, her lips parting in confusion. "What are you saying?"

I swallowed. "You and I," I exhaled, "we weren't supposed to meet."

Her expression shifted, a flicker of something—something like fear, or maybe disbelief—crossing her face. I took a step back, needing space, needing air.

"I read about you, Amelia," I admitted. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "In a novel. Ballad of the Broken."