"Bozeman, Montana," she says, her eyes glittering with excitement. "We fly out tomorrow morning. I've got the whole itinerary: Yellowstone, Salt Lake City, Arches National Park, Grand Canyon, and... Vegas, baby."
We both start laughing.
The trip. We are finally taking the trip we’ve been talking about since college, the "someday" adventure we always planned. It's the first thing in five days that has cut through the gray, mental fog. A spark of genuine, uncomplicated joy.
"Silvia, thank you... " I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.
"Ah, no. None of that," she says, though her own eyes are watery. "This is a 'Healing Girl Trip.' We are going to feel the sun, breathe air that doesn't smell like a city, and yell at geysers. It's going to be great."
Right then, as if the Universe is in on it, my phone buzzes on the table beside me.
A message from Dorian. A soft smile comes to my lips as I open it to read a new poem.
You smell of midnight
And starlight’s shine,
You taste like petals in the wind
And raindrops in spring.
You feel likefire born
And a thousand colors dawn.
Under the poem, another link to the Spotify list intitled “I will forever love you”. The first song he sent the first day is our song,“Desnudo”.
Every day a new poem and a new song.
Today it’s “Written in my heart”. I pull the phone closer to my chest. I’m not ready for him, but this... this steady, non-intrusive devotion is a balm I didn't know I needed.
Just as I'm about to read the poem to Silvia, a delivery van pulls up.
Silvia quirks an eyebrow.
"Another one? What is it today? More chocolate? That man is… sweet." Her smile is a little teasing, a little awed.
Flowers have arrived every morning, and the kitchen counter is overflowing with Hershey's Kisses and exotic pralines.
But this... this is different.
The driver brings a small, beautiful box from a high-end jewelry store.
"What specialty chocolate is it today?" Silvia asks, leaning forward as I sign for it.
My hands are trembling as I take the box back to the table.
"I don't think it's chocolate."
I lift the lid.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, a delicate, gold chain with a single, perfect, teardrop-shaped stone. A small, luminous turquoise teal sapphire, the exact color of the Pacific Ocean in the morning light. The color of the waves that had taken our past.
I blink, spotting a small, folded slip of paper. I carefully unfold it and see Dorian's perfect, masculine script.
“They say this sapphire holds the heart of a calm sea. Let it be your anchor. May it grant you the clarity to judge the past, the balance to walk your own edge, and the unshakeable peace that makes you whole again. I’ll wait for the woman you are becoming. I’ll wait for you, my love.”
I'm speechless. He replaced the stone of our pain with a symbol of our healing.
