The silver bracelet he gave me when I was nineteen.
The pair of movie ticket stubs from that terrible thriller he insisted would be “romantic.”
The Fernbridge Cabins receipt from our first weekend away, edges curled from years of hiding.
A broken pen he left behind once.
A single dried daisy he tucked behind my ear before a date.
A condom wrapper—stupid, bittersweet, kept for reasons I don’t even want to think about.
Everything he ever gave me. Everything he left behind. Everything I never learned how to throw away.
I set the watch inside gently. Fold the note and slide it beside the bracelet. My hands won’t stop shaking.
I close the box. Push it back into place. Wipe my face with the heel of my palm.
“I can’t be here,” I whisper. My voice cracks, but I keep talking. “I can’t do this alone today.”
I grab my coat, keys, boots. Shove them on with clumsy fingers.
There’s only one person I want right now. One person who never judges me. Never makes me feel like I’m losing my mind.
Wren.
I head out into the cold, locking the door behind me as snow flurries swirl through the morning air.
The walk to Beau’s place feels longer than it ever has. Snow clings to my hair, my coat, my lashes. Each step feels brittle, like something inside me might crack if I move too fast.
The cold keeps my tears from falling, freezing them before they can become anything more than a sting at the corners of my eyes.
I knock at the door with a shaking hand, barely strong enough to make a sound. I expect Beau. Maybe even Wren. But the door swings open and it’s Levi standing there, shirtless, hair damp, steam wafting behind him.
“Hey—” he starts, but then he sees my face. Everything about him shifts in a heartbeat. Shoulders dropping, expression softening, voice gentling. “Come here.”
He pulls me in before I can pretend I’m fine. The warmth of the house hits me so hard my lungs seize.
