That much I mean to him.
Now I can no longer hold back my tears. Sobbing, I walk along the forest path. By the time I reach the clearing, I have exhausted my entire supply of tissues and the emergency pack of marshmallows.
Sniffling, I enter the house.
Of course, he's not here, as he announced he would be at work. And he doesn't come while I pack my clothes into the suitcases and fill up the cosmetics bag.
It doesn't take half an hour for me to pack all my belongings and deposit them on the porch. I call a taxi and hide the house key in the hiding spot Noah showed me. Then I slide onto one of the self-made wooden chairs and let my gaze wander.
I gaze at the lake, which ironically sparkles even more intensely today than ever before.
Sighing, I lower my eyes to the handbag on my lap. Then I unzip it and take out the letter I wrote for Noah. A gust of wind almost tears the envelope from my hands. These words were my last chance to reach him. A much too passionate attempt to make him understand that he can't avoid processing his trauma either way.
Now I'm almost ashamed to have written the text at all. Noah has made it more than clear that he rejects my help. No wonder he didn't want the letter himself.
He's obviously not even worth the paper on which the words are written. I should burn it right there, where just a few weeks ago we looked deep into each other's eyes by the campfire, and I truly believed I could see his innermost self.
"You are so incredibly foolish." Even though it hurts, I have to speak the words. Because deep down, my heart still wishes Noah would appear right now. That he would see me sitting here with my luggage and realize how wrong it all went.
But the ordered taxi is the only vehicle that drives onto the clearing between the swaying trees in the wind.
"He doesn't want you. The sooner you understand that, the better." I take a deep breath. From now on, it has to be like ripping off a bandage.
Quickly.
I tuck the letter under the handle of one of the suitcases and grab the first travel bag to lift it into the car. The taxi driver helps me, and within five minutes, everything is loaded into the vehicle. I close the trunk, brush my hair away from my face, and turn around one last time to look at the house.
The porch is empty. The building appears as deserted as it did when I first arrived here.
My presence has left no traces here.
"Bye, Noah," I whisper. Then I lower my gaze, open the passenger door, and get into the taxi.
