Page 37 of Summer’s Echo

Slowly, I moved from my seat, lowering myself to kneel in front of him.

He didn’t look at me. I reached for his hands, fingers curling over his, holding on even though I could feel his resistance, his grief.

“You are an amazing man, Deshawn,” I said, “and you’ve been an even better friend to me.

” Finally, he lifted his eyes to mine. “And I am so sorry.”

He stood abruptly, practically stepping over me to get away. “And when did you figure this out?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of his pain was undeniable. “That you didn’t love me?”

He turned toward the window as if searching for an answer in the autumn sky. I stood, too, instinctively seeking my own window, needing something to ground me before I spoke.

Before I could find the words, a butterfly landed on the windowsill.

Its vivid orange wings traced with bold black veins fluttered against the cool glass.

A quiet smile ghosted my lips as a memory surfaced: Echo sitting on a tree stump at camp, his sketchbook in hand, capturing the delicate creatures that danced around us in our secret place.

“These are monarchs, Sunshine,” he had said, eyes bright with wonder.

“Their wings may be fragile, but they’re stronger than they seem.

They are known for their resilience and endurance, even in their delicacy.

Monarchs migrate thousands of miles every year, no matter what.

I sometimes wonder what kind of remarkable journeys they’ve been on. ”

His voice was warm like the summer air. Echo’s creativity was almost lyrical, flowing like a song that only he could compose.

He was always teaching me something new; his words a melody I never wanted to end.

“That’s how I see you, Summer . Fragile, yet feisty as hell.

Captivating…and I hope I get to have a glimpse into the places you’ll go. ”

I was like that butterfly. Delicate yet unbreakable.

Strong enough to make the hardest choices, even now.

The butterfly dallied for a moment, its wings trembling against the breeze.

And then, as if sensing its purpose had been fulfilled, it took flight, disappearing into the sky.

I blinked, returning to the present. Deshawn was still waiting.

“Deep down, I think I always knew,” I admitted, my voice softer than I intended, “but I wanted a husband. A family. I didn’t want to disappoint you.

Or our families. Shit, myself.” I swallowed hard.

“I thought I wanted the future we planned, but every time I dreamed about the wedding…about my life…you weren’t in it. Not in that way.”

I heard a pointed exhale from across the room. “Damn,” he murmured, his head tilting back slightly, as if absorbing the final blow. He pushed out an exaggerated breath before he spoke again. “So, all this time…I was loving a woman who was just convincing herself to love me?”

I said nothing because he wasn’t wrong. But I had a question of my own. I turned, facing him for the first time since I’d shattered his world. “Was it truly love for you, Shawn?”

He stiffened the moment the words left my lips.

The quiet was suffocating, like dust settling in an abandoned building.

His jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, but the sharp outburst I was bracing for never came.

Instead, when I searched his pained brown eyes, I found it—his truth, his acceptance.

Deep down, he already knew, but just didn’t want to be the one to say it first. Moments from the wedding planning phase flashed through my mind.

The countless times I’d ask for his opinion, only to hear the same indifferent response: “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

At the time, I had convinced myself it was just his easygoing nature, that he trusted me to make the right decisions, but now, standing here in the thick of our unraveling, I realized the truth.

It wasn’t trust. It wasn’t compromise. Deshawn would’ve married me, built a stable life, and made a home filled with warmth and routine, even if he never once felt butterflies.

That was just who he was. He took what was given to him and made the best of it, always turning lemons into lemonade.

But me? I needed more. More than comfort, more than predictability.

I wasn’t content with just making lemonade.

I wanted an entire recipe of flavors, layers of something richer, deeper.

I craved something that made my heart race, something that set my soul on fire.

And that was the difference between us. He was willing to settle into a love that was unchanging and simple—something you built over time.

But simple wasn’t enough for me. I wanted extraordinary—that dizzying, breathtaking, instant love that didn’t just spark once and fade, but an undeniable pull that lingered, even after a decade and then some.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling curtly. “Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he lifted a hand, stopping me, not out of anger, but as if he just needed a second to gather himself. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low, almost tired.

“I guess…I guess I just kept telling myself that what we had was enough.” His lips pressed together, his eyes searching mine.

“That maybe love—at least the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip—wasn’t as important as stability.

As timing. As building a life together.” A long pause stretched between us, the revelation I’d already grappled with now taking over him.

“But we were doing everything right, weren’t we? Right jobs, right plan, right time…”

“But not the right person,” I whispered, my voice barely there.

“We were building a future, but we were never building forever .” I blinked rapidly, but the tears I’d been holding back finally released.

Hurtful, yet healing. Even amid this unfolding, I felt like a coward.

Guilt pressed against my ribs, making it hard to breathe because for so long, I knew the truth but ignored it.

“So, what now?” he asked, slowly walking toward me. His voice wasn’t cold. It wasn’t even accusatory. It was just…sad. Not because he was losing me—losing us —but because maybe he was ready to accept that he—we—deserved more than just safe. We deserved something real.

I sighed, stepping forward to meet him in the middle of the room.

Unspoken words and quiet acceptance were like boulders clinging to our feet, overwhelming every step.

Deshawn grasped my hands; his warmth caressed my skin.

His touch had always been comforting, but tonight, it was a burdensome goodbye.

“So now…” My voice trailed off, barely making a sound, “we don’t choose love, we let love choose us.”

His eyes softened, filled with something I couldn’t quite name—understanding, sadness, maybe even relief.

He lifted our joined hands to his lips, pressing a dallying kiss against my knuckles.

Then, with a tenderness that made my heart hurt, he reached up and swiped away a lone tear rolling down my cheek.

One last touch. One last moment. He leaned in, pressing a soft, almost absentminded kiss against the corner of my mouth.

And then, just like that, Deshawn was gone.