Peace A Quiet Heart

Before she did it, she had to be sure. She wanted to leave. The curtain call had to be final. And when it was done, she could already feel it…peace. Peace felt like a quiet heart. Just the thought alone brought her a rare, fragile smile. It had been so long since joy had touched her eyes. Just the thought alone.

It was time.

Five hours before she said goodbye, she went back and forth. How did people say goodbye? She figured it had to be different. For the ones she cared about, she wished she could have been more honest. For the ones undeserving, she wanted to vanish; unnoticed, unremembered. She wanted to be a ghost. The kind that deserved her absence. She had grown weary of her own existence in their lives, tired of carrying their complaints, tired of absorbing their noise. Leaving, the way she needed to, would mean transference: those burdens passed on to someone else, or better yet, dissolved into silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t cling, doesn’t echo, doesn’t hold onto a sound. The kind that lets go the instant it comes. Her heart skipped with a strange glee. She imagined her ghost watching them confront the stillness she left behind. Would they understand it or would they twist it back into noise?

She let the thought linger. Then she couldn’t anymore. She had to be on the move.

No one could tell her otherwise. No one could stop her.

No voice. No plea.

There was no pain. Only fatigue. And a readiness to let go.

She reached for her pen.

 

By the time you read this, it will be too late…

 

She stopped there. That was enough. The page was scrambled. Two hours left. She had to ensure everything was in order. First stop: the pharmacy. Her prescription, ready. But first, she had to eat. Make it less painful, she told herself.

She parked her car around the corner, away from prying eyes. If a neighbour spotted her, they might wave, might ask, might talk. She had no mood for chatter today. Again, no one could guilt her out of this. No conversation. No small talk. Nothing would impede her now. She begged the sky, the sky that held the air she envied, for silence. Just silence.

Her mind rigged itself again mercilessly, circling faces of the friends she was ready to release. Leaving this way was best. It promised no calls, no messages, no obligations. Where she was going, there was no service. And then… him.

The man she tried and tried with.

Her shoulders slackened as his memory rose. No more Hello, it’s me. No more late-night questions—was I unkind? Was it me? No more walking alone down roads lined with absence.

Finally, aloneness. Wanted aloneness. Her memories loosened the bars of a gilded cage. Love had been beautiful, yes, but still a cage. She forced a smile at the sales rep behind the counter.

 

“Would that be all?” he asked, innocent in his routine, selling without knowing. She almost laughed at the contrast, the banality of his day against the finality of her moment.

“That’s all,” she said, jubilation slipping through the cracks of her voice. “I promise, you’ll not hear from me again.”

She clutched her bag, pulled her cap lower for anonymity, and hurried out of the store.

 

Her nerves spiked. Doubt. Fidgeting with her keys, her resolve shook but only for a moment. Memories of this town rose, flooding, washing away hesitation. She gritted her teeth. She would see it through.

“God, I hate this place,” she whispered, breath sharp as she turned the ignition.

The car jerked forward. Her tires screeched at a crossroad, nearly missing the red light.

And then, her chest seized.

A little girl stood at the curb. Frozen.

For an instant, the child’s wide eyes mirrored her own, paralysed, caught in the glare of a flashing death she herself had imagined.

She slammed the brake, heart in her throat. The girl jolted, hesitated, then skipped across.

Noise rushed in. Horns. Shouts. Crude names hurled from passing cars.

Noise.

Her mind scrambled, clawing for silence as she gripped the wheel tighter, forcing herself back onto the road.

This was why.

This chaos. This weight.

This was what she had to end.

This was what she was so desperate to leave behind.

 

Back in her building.

She parked in the garage, waiting, just long enough for two, maybe three witnesses. Enough for them to see her return, to know she was inside. Enough so no one would come looking. No one would worry. She’d have time.

Inside, her eyes darted around. Everything intact. Everything silent. She wanted to be gone and for the house itself to seem as though it had swallowed her absence whole. Silence. She wanted to carry that silence with her, like a mist.

She pulled out the brown bag. Then the bottle. Precision mattered. Every detail had to work. She swallowed two pills, steadying herself as a dizzy whiff broke against her body, rocking her balance for a second.

She spotted the note on the coffee table. Wrong place. Too obvious. She moved it. Into the kitchen. Into the utensil drawer she had left deliberately empty. The knives were already gone. They were coming with her. Necessary.

Her eyes flicked to the clock. One hour. It was time.

 

The burner phone slid into her hand. No trace, no link, no history. She was never here, that was the plan. A single message. Sent. Her driver was on the way.

No bags. No toiletries. Nothing. She needed the absence to feel seamless, as though she had vanished in plain sight. She slipped out the back in camouflage overalls. Back exit. The night was kind; light enough for shadows, dark enough to let them go unnoticed. Her steps quickened. Triumph hummed beneath her ribs. There, the car. She ran, almost breathless, like she was chasing freedom itself. The grass bent under her sprint, silent, complicit.

“Drive,” she whispered, sliding into the seat. Her fingers trembled. Her meds pulled at her mind, tugging loose the edges of thought. Eudaimonia.

 

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I’ll be happier for it. You won’t find me. But I’ll always know where you are. And we will meet again.

 

Faces blurred around her, shifting, unrecognisable. The wind roared through the night, carrying its aerial toys— snatches of sound, fragments of voices.

She was already elsewhere.

“Ticket and passport, please…”

This was the end, she smiled.

Peace.

A quiet heart.