“I felt it. Every word, every silence, every almost. But I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t care—because I finally do. About me.” Summary: Ivy finally lets herself process Jace’s message—not with desperation, but with clarity. She remembers the ache, the way she used to wait for his attention like air. But now she walks forward with something else: boundaries. Silence isn’t cold. It’s protective. And for the first time, her heart isn’t begging—it’s healing. Choosing not to reply isn’t indifference… it’s growth.

“She read it. No reply. And that silence hit harder than any fight we ever had. Because silence? That’s not confusion. That’s a decision. And this time… it’s not mine.” Summary: Jace finally sees the message marked as Read. After two long days, Ivy looked—and chose silence. It’s not an accident. It’s not hesitation. It’s her boundary. And Jace realizes, maybe for the first time, that she’s not waiting for him anymore. If he wants a second chance, words won’t cut it. He’ll have to become the man who’s worth her voice again. And the question that terrifies him most: what if she’s already done hoping?

"I opened it. Sat with it. And then I let it go. Because loving someone doesn't always mean answering. Sometimes it means choosing yourself, even when your heart's still sore." Summary: Ivy finally reads Jace’s message, two days later. But instead of spiraling, she breathes. The words don’t gut her like they used to. They don’t unravel her. She doesn’t reply—not because she’s punishing him, but because she no longer needs his validation to feel whole. For the first time, Ivy chooses stillness over reaction, healing over hope. And it’s not weakness—it’s freedom.

"I sat there with the phone in my hand, like it held the apology I couldn't say out loud. But there's no message that undoes what I broke. And maybe... maybe she's not coming back this time." Summary: Jace is unraveling. Every hour without a reply feels heavier than the last. He thought he could handle silence, but not hers. Now, with nothing left to hide behind, he’s finally confronting the truth—he didn’t just hurt her. He pushed her away. And as the message sits untouched, he realizes: Ivy might be gone for real this time. Not out of anger—but out of finally learning to let go.

"I could've answered. God knows I wanted to. But I didn't. Because this time, I wanted to make sure I wasn't just running back to someone who doesn't know how to stay." Summary: The morning after Jace’s late-night message, Ivy wakes to a room filled with soft light—and heavy silence. The message is still there, unread. She holds the moment in her hands, caught between habit and healing. But instead of giving in, she makes a quiet choice: to pause. To wait. To not give more of herself until he proves he knows what to do with it. She doesn’t answer… and that silence might be the loudest thing she’s ever said.

“I thought silence would be easier. I’ve lived in it my whole life. But hers? Hers feels like drowning. Like I finally reached out—too late—and she didn’t reach back.” Summary: After sending “I saw you today,” Jace waits. And waits. But Ivy doesn’t answer. The silence stretches longer than he can take, and for the first time, he’s the one left on read—if even that. The distance feels permanent now. And the truth starts to sink in: he’s not just watching her let go. He’s watching her choose not to look back. And this time, he might not get another chance.

“I stared at the message like it was a trap and a lifeline all at once. He saw me. And now he wanted me to know. But what he doesn’t get is—I’m not the same girl who would drop everything just because he texted. Not anymore.” Summary: Late at night, Ivy’s phone buzzes with a message from Jace: “I saw you today.” Just four words—but they hit like lightning. Now she’s suspended in a moment of uncertainty, staring at the screen, fingers trembling over the keyboard. A part of her wants to reply. A bigger part knows she shouldn’t. Because even now, even after everything… he still has a hold on her she doesn’t know how to break.

“She used to look back. Every time. Even when she shouldn’t. But now she doesn’t. She didn’t even flinch. And maybe that’s how I know I finally lost her… not in a scream, not in a goodbye. Just silence.” Summary: Jace watches Ivy through the glass, standing frozen in the hallway, hoping—desperately—for her to turn. Just one look. One second. A sign she still cares. But she doesn’t give it to him. She sits steady, peaceful, facing someone else. And the weight of her stillness is heavier than any words she could have thrown. For the first time, Jace realizes the distance between them isn’t just emotional. It’s final. She’s done chasing.

“I felt him watching. The air changed, like gravity shifted. But I didn’t turn. I didn’t give him that. Not because I was angry—because I was done giving him pieces of me he didn’t know how to hold.” Summary: Ivy senses Jace watching her from the hallway, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. For the first time, she doesn’t shrink, doesn’t chase, doesn’t even look. She sits steady, calm, letting him see the girl who’s starting to choose herself over waiting. It’s not about power. It’s about peace. And this time—she keeps it.

“She looked peaceful. Sitting there with him, like I hadn’t shattered her just days ago. And it hit me—all at once—that maybe she’s learning how to feel okay without me. And that… scared the hell out of me.” Summary: Jace wasn’t supposed to see her. Wasn’t supposed to stop. But when he catches Ivy tucked into a couch beside Caleb—calm, not hurting, not alone—he freezes. For the first time, he’s on the outside of her world, watching someone else fill the space he keeps leaving behind. And the ache he feels in that moment? It’s not jealousy. It’s real loss—the kind you can’t charm or run from.