Mallory huffed. “You don’t need me to lie. You need me to tell you the truth. And the truth is, you had something real. Something most people never get in their entire damn lifetime.”
Savannah let her head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as another tear slipped down the side of her face.
“I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Mallory sighed. “I know, sweetie.”
Savannah closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the weight of everything settle over her like a thick, inescapable fog. She had spent an entire year trying to outrun the truth. Trying to convince herself that leaving was the right choice. But Chase’s letter had obliterated every single excuse she had clung to.
Because now?
Now, he was the one walking away.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
50
Love Language
Savannahspentdaysrereadingthe letter.
Over and over, dissecting every word, as if somewhere between the ink and the paper, she could find an answer she didn’t already know. As if, by some miracle, a hidden message would reveal itself, something—anything—that would change what she knew to be true.
But no matter how many times she read it, the conclusion was always the same.
She had never let him go.
She had ran.
That was the truth she had been hiding from for an entire year. The truth she had twisted and reshaped until it resembled something else, something easier to swallow. She had told herself that leaving was the right thing to do, that she had been saving herself from the inevitable heartbreak. That if she walked away first, if she severed the ties before they could tighten around her, she would be free.
But all she had done was bring the heartbreak forward. She had detonated the bomb before it even had the chance to go off.
And now? Now, she was the one left in the wreckage.
While Chase had moved forward.
She barely slept. She barely ate. Her apartment had become a maze she wandered endlessly, drifting from room to room like a ghost, haunted by memories she couldn’t turn off. The way he used to look at her—like she was the only person in the world, like nothing else existed outside of her. The way his voice softened when he said her name, that slight rasp that always made her stomach tighten. The way he always tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, small and effortless but impossibly intimate, like touching her was second nature.
Like she belonged to him.
She had spent a year convincing herself she made the right choice. That she was healing. That time had dulled the edges of what they had.
But the truth?
She wasn’t living. She wasn’t healing. She was just—existing.
And then, just when she thought she had suffered enough, Mallory shattered the last fragile piece of her resolve.
“He has a meeting tomorrow,” Mallory had said carefully, too carefully, like she knew exactly what she was doing. “But he’s free after. He asked if I wanted to grab a drink and catch up.”
Savannah’s stomach twisted, nausea climbing up her throat so fast she had to grip the counter to steady herself. She had been debating ever since.
Should she go? Should she ask Mallory to trade places with her? Should she reach out? Should she—for once in her damn life—fight?
Or was it too late?
Was this letter just a farewell? One last piece of him before he finally, finally, closed the door for good?
