Page 71 of Unbreakable

I objected, of course, but then I found out the penalty if I didn’t follow through. My parents' death. As much as I loathe them, I cannot have their death on my hands.

Jace, you saw something was wrong with me tonight, and I lied to you. I’m sorry. You see, the man who I was sold to, to marry, was the person I was supposed to do the private dance for. He came to remind me of the deal that was made, and the repercussions of not following through.

So, I decided to leave this way. I know it is the coward way, leaving in the middle of the night and leaving a note. I know if I stay the next few days, I won’t leave. These last few months have been the best of my life and it’s because of the four of you.

Please don’t let what I did turn you against women. As much as I hate saying this as I want you all for myself, I hope you find love. A love that will sustain you for the rest of your life.

I was lucky to find it four times. Knox, Draco, Bash, Jace I love you. I love all four of you more than I can ever say. I’m sorry I never said it in person to you. It’s my love for y’all, and the memories of all the times we have together, that’s going to get me through the time I have left in this life. However it ends.

Love Arizona

I fold the letter in half and write their names on the outside as I wipe the tears streaming down my face with the palm of my hand. Portions of the letter are already falling victim to their dampness. I place the letter on the table so that they’ll see it when they come in the morning. They all have a key to get in, and my strong Bash should be the one to find it.

Picking up my small bag I head towards the door, taking one final look around and turning the lights off, stepping through the front door I shut and lock it behind me. I glance one last time at Knox’s door and rush down the steps to my car. I have forty minutes to make it to the train station.

Once I’m firmly seated behind the driver's seat, I fall apart. Starting the engine, I back out and drive out of the parking lot. Knowing firmly at this moment I’m heading to my funeral. I pull out my phone from the bag and make one last call on it. The phone rings twice before a groggy voice answers it with a harsh, “Hello.”

“Dad, I’m on my way home. I should be there late tomorrow. Please be sure to let my future husband know. I understand he has plans.” Hanging up, I turn it off, placing it in the console. I won’t be needing it any longer. Keeping it with me would just tempt me to contact them, to answer their calls and texts.

---