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I even leave the shirt I’ve been sleeping in, torn between throwing it in the washer or abandoning it. I can’t waste too much time.
Also, it still smells faintly like him. In a moment of weakness, I press it to my face and inhale him.
Yeah, leaving a man I’m totally wrong for shouldn’t hurt this much.
He even made it perfectly clear we weren’t ever together, didn’t he?
Not really.
But then there was that whole conversation in the woods, where he said without really saying it that wemight have a chance.
There was also a heap of drama with his ex and stuff with Colt and it was—it was nice while it lasted.
Now, it’s over.
Someday, I hope I can look back on my time with Archer Rory as an innocent mistake, a ‘loved and lost’ that was never meant to be. He was everything I needed in my darkest hour, and everything I had to let go before I plunged him into night.
I throw the shirt in the hamper—no one should touch that again until it’s clean after my snotty face was on it—and then I haul my stuff downstairs.
I march out to my vehicle and stuff the trunk full.
Then it’s back to the kitchen for the finishing touch.
A goodbye note to Archer.
I can’t ghost without saying something.
I scribble fast, hoping he can read my handwriting. I keep it short and simple because I don’t have time and my heart can’t bear a whole essay on why I’m leaving or the thousand and one ways it guts me.
Dear Archer,
This summerwith you and Colt has been wonderful, the best weeks of my life. No lie.
But I think we know it’s reaching its expiration. I don’t want to ruin your life more than I already have, so I’m taking myself out of the equation.
I wish you and Colt the happiest days ahead. Please move on, please don’t wait for me, and please remember how to smile. You look so good when you do.
-Winnie
Okay.
Okay, so theremightbe a few telltale drips that I smear away and smudge the writing slightly, but it’s good enough, right?
I need to get out of here so I can hash out a real escape plan to my future. But before I can make a long drive anywhere, I need to clear my head, and the woods are calling with fresh air and pretty birds and shining stars.
After this last heart-ripping day, I desperately need some time alone with nature.
I leave the note on the counter and turn to leave—only to have my heart fly up my throat when I see who’s there.
Colt, standing in front of me.
He’s holding something out to me. I have to blink several times to see what it is.
Something wooden? A carving?
“You’re crying,” he says in the petrified tone of a boy who doesn’t deal with crying adult women very often.
I sniff, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.