Prologue-Esme
The box in my hands is heavier than it should be.
Not because of what’s inside—just clothes, folded neat and tight like that might somehow keep me from falling apart—but because of what it means.
This is the last one.
I stand in the middle of the small military housing unit that used to feel like home, my gaze sweeping over the empty space.
The walls are bare now.
The little hooks where I used to hang photos—our photos—are still there, tiny reminders of something that doesn’t exist anymore.
Benji’s boots aren’t by the door.
His coffee mug isn’t in the sink.
His voice doesn’t echo off these walls.
It’s just me.
And all the deafening silence.
I swallow hard, blinking against the sting in my eyes.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry again.
I’ve done enough of that over the past few months to last a lifetime.
“Get it together, Esme,” I whisper to myself, shifting the box on my hip.
The lease is up.
Not renewed.
He didn’t even tell me.
I found out from base housing, a polite little email informing me that my occupancy would be terminated at the end of the month.
Just like that.
Clean. Clinical. Final.
Like I meant nothing.
Like we meant nothing.
I laugh, but it comes out broken, hollow.
Because I know why.
I know exactly what he thinks. But knowing it doesn’t break my heart any less?
How could you believe that about me, Benji? How could you?
My gaze drifts to the kitchen counter, to the spot where my phone used to sit while I waited—day after day, night after night—for it to light up with his name.
It used to.
