The room falls silent.

Quinn reaches for Ambrose, and I can’t take it. I can’t look at him, so I turn and look at the perfectly white wall and wonder how this all happened.

How.

I have no idea.

She saved him.

At what cost to him, though?

He’s an orphan, just like me.

And he’ll blame me, as he should. After all, I’m the one that called her. I’m the one that spent the last moments of his father’s life with him, just like I spent the last few seconds of her life with her.

“Love him,” she whispered.

“I know, I know.” I hold her hand.

“Didn’t mean—“

“—It’s okay!” I yelled. “You’re going to be fine!”

“Doctor, need to save—“

“—No.” I shook my head. “No, it’s fine—“

She started to code, then miraculously opened her eyes and stared at the doctors and surgeons.

“Save him.”

It was all she needed to say.

Paperwork was brought, she was able to actually sign it, and then…

She coded again.

And she was gone.

Ambrose starts to cry. I know Quinn will be there for him, and I’ll be there in spirit.

I leave the room.

I’m numb as I walk to the parking lot, and then I just keep walking.

I walk three miles to the house that gave me a fresh start. I walk through each of the hallways and memorize the way they always look so stark and perfect to me.

He’ll have Quinn.

He’ll have money.

But I can’t bear to let him have me knowing that it’s my fault. I ruined everything that was perfect in his life without even realizing it.

The words of my previous foster parent before Ambrose’s aunt sink in. They finally sink in.

“You’re a curse! You ruin everything! My marriage is over because of you!”

She yelled so much that day; she blamed me for tempting her husband, she blamed me for him losing his job, she blamed me for everything.

And now I wonder if she’s right. If the reason that nobody ever kept me was because I’m unkeepable. I’m the person that stays for a season, only to be kicked out the very next.

After all, aren’t the last three people who tried to love me dead?

It’s better this way. There is no actual logic to my choice other than I can’t see any other option.

But sometimes, life isn’t logical. Sometimes things just happen, but when you see a pattern, the only way to change it is to change yourself.

I go into Ambrose’s room and grab a piece of paper and one of his black markers. I almost smile at how impeccable his room is for a high school boy; he even made his bed.

So perfect, isn’t he?

I draw a black heart and then sign it: Love, MB. I’m sorry for everything.

I leave it on his bed and then walk into my room. I leave the makeup. I leave the fancy clothes and purse. I gather what I came with—just that.