Ava stirred awake just as the soft morning light crept through the curtains. She turned her head and found her husband still sound asleep beside her. Face relaxed, breathing soft. He looked peaceful, and she knew how exhausted he must be. Six days a week he'd been working—barely resting, every day coming home still smiling for her. Even when his shoulders were heavy with stress, he made time for her. And she adored him for that.

"Mm...let him sleep a little," she whispered to herself, pressing a quiet kiss on his forehead before slipping out of bed. He didn't stir as she padded out to the kitchen, tying her messy hair up and starting the morning chores. Humming softly, she rinsed the dishes, tidied up the living room, checked the laundry—all the while glancing toward the clock with a growing sense of anticipation.

By the time she crept back into the bedroom, she was full of playful energy. "Baaabe," she whispered in a sing-song voice, tiptoeing to the bed and kneeling beside him. He mumbled something incoherent and turned over.

"Hmph!" she puffed her cheeks. "Don't ignore meeee..." she whined, her voice laced with that irresistibly cute frustration. She poked his cheek. "You promised we'd go shopping today! It's your only off day this week!"

Still no proper response. "Ughhh,you sleepy potato!" she grumbled, huffing and flopping dramatically across his chest like a sleepy cat. "Get up or I'm gonna sulk all day." Another mumble. "Fine! If I pout hard enough maybe you'll feel guilty!" she said, turning away with a dramatic hmph!—but not even five seconds later, she peeked back with one eye. "...Are you even looking at my pout?"

More pokes. More bouncing. Whispers turning to giggles. Eventually, his arms wrapped lazily around her and she squeaked as he pulled her into the covers. Ava giggled wildly, writhing in his arms. "Eeeek! No fair! I'm serious this time! We gotta goooo!"

After a lot of wriggling, pouting, and ticklish whines, he finally caved—and she beamed, giddy and victorious as he began getting ready.

The mall buzzed with life as the two of them strolled between shops, her arm looped around his, shopping bags swinging in their hands. Every few steps, she leaned into him with a cheerful little hum, her cheek brushing his shoulder. Her happiness was radiant. Her eyes sparkled under the lights, her lips curled up as she pointed out cute items and laughed over silly price tags. She looked up at him with a smile that could melt stone.

"Hey, we should go check out that café later, the one with the strawberry parfaits, remember?" Then she giggled softly, tilting her head. "I'll let you steal a bite from mine. But just one, okay?"

Before he could respond—she stopped. He felt the tug on his arm. She didn't move. Her eyes locked on something—or someone—in the distance. Derek. He was standing near a corner, a casual smile on his face, talking to someone. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned. His eyes met Ava's. And he smiled. That smile. The one he used to give before everything turned dark. The one that never meant warmth. Only power.

"Well, well..." he called out, his voice cutting through the crowd, rougher than remembered. "Look who it is. Ava freakin' Monroe."

Her body stiffened. Her breath hitched. "...n-no..." she whispered, eyes wide, face drained of color. She tried to say more, but the words came out in slow, fractured whispers. "...I...c-can't...I-I...no, why...he's...why now..."

Her voice trembled with each word, each syllable breaking like glass in her throat. The bags in her hands trembled. Her fingers clenched tighter around his arm, almost painful. She tried to look away but couldn't. She was frozen. She wasn't seeing the mall anymore. She was seeing that dim hallway again. The shouting. The fear. The feeling of being small, worthless, trapped.

Derek's voice followed, louder now, jagged with mockery: "Didn't think I'd—what, see you out in public again? Thought you'd still be hiding behind locked doors." He chuckled. Dry. Mean. "Guess even damaged goods get picked up eventually, huh?"

His eyes dragged over to him. Evaluating. Dismissive. "This him?" he asked with a crooked sneer. "New boytoy? Hope he knows how to handle the mess you leave behind."

And above it all—that single sickening thought clawing up her spine: Every time I was happy... it always broke. She turned her head slowly, eyes flicking to him. Tears brimmed, but didn't fall. She looked scared—like a child about to break in front of the only person who's ever made her feel safe.