Just enough.
“Isa,” he said, and my name sounded like goodbye. “I’m leaving because I’m scared, too.”
The words destroyed me.
He stepped around me.
Not touching.
Not brushing my arm.
Careful even in heartbreak.
At the door, he paused.
I turned, crying openly now.
“Drew.”
He looked back once.
His eyes went to the gift on the bed.
Then to me.
“Open it after I’m gone,” he said.
Then he walked out.
I stood there until I heard his footsteps disappear down the hall. Until the front door opened. Until it closed.
Only then did I turn back to the bed.
The box sat there in the middle of all that perfect white bedding, small and bright and awful.
My hands shook when I picked it up.
For a second, I just held it against my chest.
Like an apology.
Like a wound.
Like the last warm thing he had left behind.
Then I pulled the ribbon loose.
Inside was a thin gold bracelet.
Simple.
Delicate.
Not flashy.
So, Drew.
A tiny charm hung from the clasp, shaped like a little star.
