Cordelia Chase released a shaky and painful breath as she willed herself to turn away from the scene that had caused her heart to break. Her friends, some of which she had proudly called her family, surrounded the elated couple, the female showing off the diamond engagement ring glistening on her ring finger as the man grinned by her side, his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to his body.
She had been replaced.
Forgotten.
And it had only taken eight months since she had parted ways with her team.
Since he had received the call that she had died, never once waking from her coma.
He had argued, yes. Fought with the doctors and yelled, informing them that she had just been with them. That he would find her and show them.
But he never had.
She was gone.
And then he believed.
He believed that she was dead.
They all had.
And without any visual confirmation, no less.
They believed after one phone call and a vanishing act, just like she knew they would.
Of course, she had wished that she had been wrong.
That they would try to find her, that they would never lose hope that she was somewhere, alive.
They hadn't.
After all, they weren't the same people they were when it had all began.
She shouldn't be surprised.
She knew it would hurt.
But it had been her choice.
And because of that, she wiped away the tears that managed to escape, drew in a long, calming breath and walked away from the people she still cared deeply for.
Walked away from the man she had fallen in-love with and had failed to tell.
The man that would eventually promise to spend forever loving and cherishing the only woman she had ever envied.
The Slayer.
Maybe someday she would tell them.
Maybe someday they would figure out for themselves.
But until that day, she was left running.
