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A keychain with a quote from Ruth Bader Ginsburg (RBG):"Fight for the things that you care about."

A mini pack of sour gummy worms with a sticky note that says,"For when you're sweet but savage."

A granola bar with"Study fuel, just like you like it, oats and no nonsense."written in his handwriting.

A tiny bottle of lavender hand lotion labeled,"So your hands don't cramp from writing briefs."

And finally, a folded certificate that reads:

"This Certifies That: MANDY FIELDS

Has Officially Outworked, Outlasted, and Out-Badassed the Bar Prep Season

Awarded by: NATE JONES, Head Cheerleader, Defenseman, and Certified Idiot In Love"

I clutch the pen in my fist like it might keep me upright. Nate wroteIdiot in loveright there on the certificate, and it's the "love" part that undoes me.

I sit down at my desk, hard.

He did this.

After everything. After the awkward silence, the cold phone call, the photos, the whispering doubts in my head that said he’d move on the second things got hard.

He didn’t move on.

He stayed.

And not just with promises. But with pages. With exhibits. With receipts. With proof.

“This is insane,” I whisper, tears tracking down my cheeks.

I flip the last page over, and on the back is a single Post-it:

"If any of this made you smile… open the front door."

"What... the front door?" I whisper, blinking at the note like it might sprout legs and walk away if I stare too hard. My heart lurches, slamming somewhere between my ribs and my throat.

I stand.