Ava's POV
I turned off the alarm. 6:00 a.m.
Too early, too cold, and I was too tired. But I got up anyway.
I grabbed my crutch. I was still getting used to this new strength. The surgery helped, but it didn't fix everything. My leg still wobbled sometimes, but I was trying.
I stepped outside for my morning run—or more like a walk with determination.
The air was crisp. Quiet.
Just me, the steady tap of my crutch, and the sound of my breath.
Some days I ran in my head. Today was one of those days.
But I needed this.
Needed to move. To feel like I was going somewhere—anywhere but back.
Then I saw them.
Melissa. Standing too close to Nico outside a coffee shop.
She touched his arm when she laughed.
Nico didn't laugh.
But he didn't pull away either.
My heart slammed. I slowed down. Watched.
She looked... comfortable. Like they'd been talking for a while.
Like she belonged there.
What the hell was this?
I didn't move at first. Just stood there, staring like an idiot.
Then I turned around. Fast.
No drama. No questions.
Just the ache sitting heavy in my chest.
I walked away. Or tried to. My steps were uneven. The crutch didn't help. Neither did the thoughts in my head.
What was she doing with him?
And how did she know about Nico and me?
Maybe she didn't.
Or maybe she did.
Maybe this was all part of something bigger.
I didn't know what to believe anymore.
But one thing was clear—
I had to protect myself.
And my dad.
No more mistakes.
I didn't say anything about what I saw. Not to Nico. Not to anyone. I just kept walking, head down, pretending like my chest wasn't burning.
I needed air. Space. Something else to focus on.
That's when I saw her.
She looked familiar—but I couldn't place her. Until she came running toward me, eyes wide.
"Oh my God. Ava!" she said, pulling me into a tight hug like we were long-lost sisters.
I froze for a second. Then it hit me.
Joane.
She used to live down the street. We were friends once. Before she moved away. I almost didn't recognize her.
She was still beautiful. Maybe even more now.
"I missed you so much," she said.
I smiled, even if it was a little forced. "Wow. Joane… It's been forever."
We talked for a long time—just walking. Catching up like nothing had changed.
Turns out, she moved back a few weeks ago. Said she needed a fresh start. I didn't tell her everything that was going on, but she could tell something wasn't right.
"You've been through stuff," she said gently.
I just nodded.
Then she smiled. "You know what? There's this party tonight. Just a friend's thing. Nothing wild. Come with me. You need a break."
"A party?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Not a crazy one. Just music, people, air. Come on, Ava. You need to feel normal again."
I thought about it. About Nico. About Ethan. About everything.
"Okay," I said. "I'll come."
I stood in front of my closet, staring like it would magically decide for me.
Nothing felt right.
Then I remembered the dress.
It used to belong to my mom. Dad gave it to me on my seventeenth birthday—said she wore it once on a night she wanted to feel fearless.
I kept it safe. Tucked in a drawer I never touched unless I missed her. That drawer held everything of hers Dad had given me.
But now... it was empty.
Panic hit me.
I tore through my room, yanked open every drawer, every box. Nothing.
I called the workers. Asked them one by one. No one saw anything.
Then one of them paused. "I think... I saw Melissa go into your room yesterday."
My heart dropped.
And right then—like a scene from a movie—Melissa walked out of her room.
Wearing it.
My mother's dress.
She twirled slowly like it was hers.
"Going somewhere?" she asked, smirking. "This old thing? Thought it looked better on me."
I didn't say anything. Not yet. But the heat in my chest was boiling.
She crossed the line.
Again.
"Melissa, how could you?" My voice cracked. "That's my mom's dress."
She didn't flinch. Just looked down at herself like she was on a runway.
"Oh? Sorry," she said with a fake pout. "Didn't see your name on it."
My fists clenched. "You went through my stuff."
She walked closer, dragging the hem with every step. "You don't even wear it. What's the point of keeping it locked up like some old memory?"
"Because it means something to me!" I snapped. "You had no right."
She tilted her head. "Relax. It's just a dress."
But it wasn't. And she knew it.
That was the point.
Every move she made was to break something I still held on to.
And this time, she chose my mother.
Melissa scoffed. "You're always so emotional, Ava. No wonder Ethan left. You hold on to things like they're gold, when they're just dust."
I stood there, shaking. My hands. My breath. Everything.
She smirked, turning like she was about to walk away with the dress.
Then I heard footsteps.
"Ava?"
Joane.
She froze when she saw us.
Her eyes landed on the dress. Then on my face.
"Wait... isn't that your mom's?" Joane asked, brows drawn together.
I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice.
Melissa rolled her eyes. "God, does everyone worship this dead woman or what?"
Joane stepped forward. "Take it off."
Melissa raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"I said take it off. Right now," Joane repeated, her voice low, sharp. "That doesn't belong to you."
Melissa looked between us, like she didn't know whether to laugh or slap someone.
But she saw we weren't backing down.
And for the first time, I saw something flicker in her eyes.
Not fear.
But the beginning of it.
I remembered something.
Years ago. When Joane and I were still friends.
I'd brought her into my room once. She was going through my drawers, playfully, like we used to do. Then she found the dress. My mom's.
I told her everything. How Dad gave it to me. How it was the only thing I had left that still smelled like her.
Now, seeing her again—seeing her face when she recognized the dress—I knew she remembered too.
"Joane," I said quietly, tugging her arm. "Let it go."
"What?" she blinked, confused.
"It's fine. I'll just find something else to wear," I said, my voice steady even if I wasn't.
Melissa smirked, triumphant, but I didn't care.
I just wanted peace.
Joane looked at me, eyes searching my face. Then she nodded slowly. "Okay. But just know… that dress never looked good on her anyway."
We walked away. My chest was tight, but my head was high.
Some things weren't worth the fight.
But she wouldn't win forever. Not this time.