Even though it aches something fierce, even though I miss her more than I’ll ever admit out loud, that’s enough for now.
Because I love her.
Enough to let her go.
I drive into town, the weight in my chest heavier than it’s been in days.
Loss changes you. Not all at once, but slowly. Sort of like rust creeping up metal, eating through the parts you thought were strong. Every loss hits harder than the last. Maybe it’s because each one reopens the old wounds beneath it, or maybe it’s because grief stacks itself like bricks, until you’re carrying something you can’t set down.
You lose. You ache. You try to heal.
Trybeing the key word.
But Elowen… she’s never lost anyone like this before. Her first real heartbreak wasn’t a boy or a friend or a failed dream. It was her dad. And I wonder if she’s let herself feel the full weight of that, or if she’s just surviving it. Because that’s what most people do now. They bury the pain and keep moving.
Hell, I did that for years.
Still do.
And I don’t even know what I said to her after he died. I was in shock. Numb. I hate that she didn’t answer the phone that night, the way she didn’t look at it, the way I didn’t tell her to.
And underneath it all, the shame sits like a stone in my gut.
What if we had answered?
Would it have made a difference?
Would it have changed anything? Or just given us a few more seconds we still couldn’t hold onto?
Does it even matter now?
The bell above the bakery door jingles as I step inside. It smells like cinnamon and sugar and things I can’t quite holdonto anymore. The girl behind the counter greets me with the same sympathetic smile she’s been wearing for weeks.
"Same as yesterday?" she asks gently.
"Yeah," I murmur, pulling out my wallet. "Maybe add one of those lemon bars too. Mrs. Donovan used to like those."
She nods, boxing up the pastries without asking questions. That’s what I like about this place. Nobody pushes, nobody pries.
As I wait, my eyes land on a mother and daughter at a table by the window. The little girl’s braiding her mom’s hair while they laugh about something only they understand. My chest tightens.
That used to be Elowen and her mom, once upon a time.
I take the box, thank the girl, and step outside just as a breeze kicks up. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
@theelowendonovan has posted a new story
I don’t open it.
Not right now.
Maybe I stayed for her family. But damn if it doesn’t feel like I’m the one who got left behind.
I toss the bag of pastries onto the passenger seat and drag in a long breath, the kind that feels like it might collapse my chest from the inside out.
Everything’s a mess. Grief. Family. This town that hasn’t changed in decades.
But there’s one thing that’s stayed surprisingly… clear.
