Valeria 10:43 p.m.:
Drive safe, my love. I love you, and I’m sorry.
Valeria buries her face in one of the pillows, and the scent of Brooke’s cologne rises around her. It’s the same scent that has steadied her and unraveled her more times than she cares to remember. Tonight, she can’t tell whether it’s comforting or whether it’s twisting the knot of guilt in her chest tighter.
She should have gone with Brooke. She shouldn’t have let her walk out soaked in that much anger. They have one rule, the one they never break: don’t leave each other angry. Tonight, for the first time, they broke it, and the thought presses down on her as she stays curled on the bed, the faint trace of Brooke lingering in the fabric beneath her cheek.
The next morning, Isabella and Lily drive Valeria home. She can tell there’s so much they want to ask, but she doesn’t have the energy to relive it allright now, so she’s grateful Brooke forgot her headphones, so she can throw them on and avoid the conversation.
The moment Isabella pulls into the driveway, Brooke’s car isn’t where it should be. The spot to the left of their driveway is empty. A sharp panic rises before Valeria can steady herself.
Valeria pushes the car door open without a word and rushes inside, clinging to the hope that Brooke’s car might be in the garage. She doesn’t usually park there, but she has before—and Valeria prays this is one of those times. As soon as she steps into their house, she freezes; blankets lie crumpled on the floor that weren’t there when they left, papers are scattered across the living room, and a picture frame sits shattered on the coffee table. Valeria picks it up only for her heart to drop as she realizes it’s a photo from their trip to Hawaii last year, torn cleanly in half.
She breaks into a run toward their bedroom, hoping against hope that she’s misreading everything. The moment she pushes the door open, that hope evaporates. Brooke’s colognes and lotions are gone from atop the dresser. Drawers hang open, and some of Valeria’s clothes are thrown across the floor. She struggles to take a breath. Her chest tightens, a solid grip squeezing her lungs. Each inhale is shallow, a desperate gasp for air that feels just out of reach.
She moves toward the closet, bracing for what she’ll find. Brooke’s side is empty. Bare hangers sway slightly, as if disturbed only moments ago. In the bathroom, the counter is stripped clean—her toiletries gone.
Brooke left.
Valeria’s knees give out, and she collapses onto the floor in a sob that tears through her before she can swallow it down. Even as all the muscles in her chest tighten into apainful fist, she fumbles for her phone with shaking hands and calls Brooke, clinging to the faint hope that this is all a mistake, that Brooke will answer, that something can still be done, that she can still fix this.
The call goes straight to voicemail.
She tries again and again, but each attempt is met with silence. Brooke’s name flashes and disappears as Valeria’s calls are forwarded. Her fingers tingle as panic rises; a mild static spreads from her fingers to her palm and up her wrist as she keeps dialing, until the truth settles in. Brooke is screening her calls. Eventually, her hands fall still, and she stops trying.
A moment later, Valeria’s phone releases the soft chime she set for Brooke, and Valeria taps it open before the sound fades.
Brooke 8:56 a.m.:
Please stop calling. I’m so angry at you, I’m the only one who ever gets hurt here. I don’t know if I can forgive you anymore. Maybe when you finally understand how much you’ve broken me, we’ll see if there’s anything left to save. You wanted space, I’m giving you all of it.
Valeria stares at the message until the words blur, swallowed by the tears gathering in her eyes. Her hand trembles as she presses it to her lips, trying to keep herself together while her soul feels like it’s being torn cleanly in half. Her chest tightens as if invisible hands are cinching a cord around her heart.
The first few weeks after the breakup—though Valeria didn’t think you could even call it that, because it was more of a ghosting than anything—she called Brooke so many times. Left her so many messages that she used up all the space in Brooke’s voicemail until she couldn’t leave any more. Brooke ignored every single attempt.
For months, Brooke’s key stayed on the hook by the door, untouched. Valeria stopped checking her phone for Brooke’s name sometime in late winter, after the silence grew heavier than she could handle.
In early spring, when Valeria finally accepted that Brooke wasn’t coming back, she packed up all her things and moved out of the home they’d shared for three years. Even though she hated it, moving into her own space helped Valeria accept that she had to try to move on—even if she didn’t know where to start.
At the encouragement of Clara, Alejandra, Isabella, and Lily, Valeria went on a single date six months after her breakup with Brooke.
The restaurant was loud in all the wrong ways; the clinking of glasses and laughter felt overwhelming. Her date—Ava—was nothing short of wonderful. Ava talked, smiled, and flirted, trying to engage Valeria. Valeria, for her part, did her best. She nodded when she was supposed to, answered when she had to, tried to flirt back, but the weight in her chest kept growing until it tipped her over.
Halfway through their meal, tears came without permission. She excused herself too late, her voice already breaking, and cried there at the table, humiliated and hollow. In that moment, the truth landed with brutal certainty. This was her life again. Sitting across from strangers,pretending to be open to something new while knowing exactly who held her heart, and who probably always would.
Brooke was ingrained in her soul to a degree Valeria could still barely comprehend.
The date ended early, and by the next morning, the idea of dating was tucked into a deep drawer in her mind that Valeria didn’t intend to open again any time soon.
Almost a year after their breakup, slowly, so slowly she didn’t even notice, Valeria thought about Brooke less and less until she didn’t take up any space in her mind. It’s as if Brooke could sense it, because right as Valeria finally felt she had healed and moved on, Brooke popped right back into her life.
Valeria was convinced Brooke had forgotten entirely about her. Still, there she was, standing outside the vet clinic, with Valeria’s favorite flowers in hand and a sheepish grin on her face. Nose and cheeks rosy pink from the cold November air.
“Hi,” Brooke said with that same smile that had always melted Valeria.
“Hi,” Valeria replied, out of breath as her chest split open from the intensity of her emotions. Joy, relief, longing, anger, loneliness—all of them crashing together so fiercely it hurt.
In some deep part of herself, Valeria knows she should feel angry, that she should march straight past Brooke and never look back, but the moment Brooke’s blue eyes find hers, it’s as though the whole world rights itself again. She’s here, and it’s all Valeria can seem to focus on. All the lonely months and all the nights she lay awake aching for Brooke vanished in a heartbeat. Suddenly, she feels so silly for ever thinkingshe could move on.
