I could see tears in her eyes.
Not evil.
Not demonic.
Broken.
She wasn’t haunting me.
She was me.
And suddenly, something snapped inside my chest.
I grabbed the cup from her hand.
Marcus smiled in triumph.
But instead of drinking—
I hurled it across the kitchen.
It shattered against the wall.
Silence.
The woman gasped.
Her body began to flicker, like smoke losing shape.
“No!” Marcus shouted.
I stepped toward her—toward myself.
“You don’t need to drink his shame,” I said softly.
The woman’s face crumpled.
And then—
She vanished.
Just like that.
Marcus staggered back like someone had punched him.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” he hissed.
“Oh, I do,” I replied, my voice steady for the first time all morning.
“I chose myself.”
The house felt lighter.
Cleaner.
Marcus looked smaller somehow.
Not powerful.
Just pathetic.
I walked past him, grabbed my keys, and opened the front door.
“Lauren!” he shouted. “You can’t just leave!”
I turned.
“I’m not running this time.”
And I stepped outside.
The air felt different.
Sharp. Real.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.
Divorce.
Therapy.
Starting over.
But as I got into my car, I realized something:
The most horrifying thing I had seen that morning wasn’t the woman in red.
It was the version of me who almost stayed.
And that woman?
She was finally gone.
