I step inside, my chest tightening.
“Emma?”
Silence.
Then I see it.
On the table sits a single piece of paper, weighted by something small and silver.
Her earring.
I reach for the note first. My throat tightens the second I read her handwriting.
Thank you for showing me what home feels like.
That’s it. No explanation. No apology. No promise.
Just that one, clean line that punches straight through me.
My gaze drops to the object beneath the note — the photo I didn’t know she printed. The one she took on the ridge.
Me, standing beneath the aurora, the green light bending around me like it’s part of the moment, not the backdrop. My expression softer than I ever let it be. My guard down in a way I didn’t realize she’d captured.
I sit heavily on the edge of the couch, the photo in my hands, the note burning in my head.
She’s gone.
She didn’t say where. Didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t leave anything unfinished except me.
I breathe out slowly, the sound raw in my throat.
Of course she left. Her life isn’t here. She has a future somewhere bigger, brighter, more ambitious than this small town and the firefighter stupid enough to fall for the way she looks at the world.
Still — I wanted more time. I wanted one more morning. I wanted her to stay long enough to see what we could’ve been if neither of us were afraid of wanting too much.
I press the photo lightly against my knee, jaw tight.
“Emma,” I whisper, the word breaking a little.
I don’t know if I’m angry or hurt or numb.
But I know one thing for sure: I’m not going to forget her.
Not today, not next week, not ever.
I look at the photo again. Then I stand, walk to my bedroom, and tack it to the wall above my bed.
Let it stay there. Let it remind me what it felt like — for one night — to be seen in a way I didn’t know I needed.
NINE
EMMA
New York is louder than I remember.
Maybe it’s always been this loud — cabs honking, people weaving through each other on the sidewalks, subway grates hissing steam into cold air — but after weeks surrounded by pine trees and quiet snow, the city feels like it’s trying too hard.
Or maybe I’m the one trying too hard.
