Chapter 10 - The Unbroken Horizon
Late that night, after the last guests had departed and the gallery doors were closed, I walked out onto the elevated terrace of the Art Institute, looking out over Millennium Park and the dark, vast expanse of Lake Michigan.
The cool spring breeze swept through my hair, carrying the clean scent of rain and freshwater.
I pulled my smartphone from my purse and opened my private cloud storage folder.
Inside was a single file: a high-resolution photograph taken on my wedding night—a photo of a ruined silk gown, covered in buttercream and dark red raspberry syrup, sitting on a wooden bench in the Peninsula Hotel.
I stared at the image for a long moment.
I remembered the cold, sharp shock of my face striking the cake platform. I remembered the sound of three hundred people laughing while I stood there frozen, humiliated, and broken.
I remembered the fear that had tried to whisper in my ear, telling me to put the diamond ring back on, bow my head, and accept a lifetime of quiet submission to a man who didn't love me.
Then I looked at my hands—steady, strong, and unadorned.
I tapped the screen.
Delete File.
"Are you sure you want to permanently delete this item?" the screen asked.
I touched the screen without hesitation.
Confirm.
The image vanished into the digital void, leaving the screen clean, white, and clear.
I put the phone back into my purse, leaning my arms against the stone balustrade of the terrace.
The city lights stretched out before me like a field of gold stars, shining brightly against the dark night sky.
May you like
I took a deep, clear breath, filling my lungs with the cool night air, feeling the quiet, invincible power that had always lived inside me—a power that no one could ever take away again.
I turned around and walked back inside into the bright, warm light, ready for tomorrow.
