“You think you own me,” I went on, my breath trembling, “but one day you’ll wake up and find nothing left of me. Not my scent on your sheets. Not my voice in these halls. Just silence—and you’ll realize that’s the only thing I ever owed you.” “I’ll never forgive you,” I whispered, tears sliding down my cheeks, “and I hope one day you understand what it’s like to beg for air in the dark, praying for someone who never comes.”
