Page 85 of Molt

“I’ll leave.”

“You always come back.”

“So do you.”

I look at her. And there it is. The truth neither of us wants.

I cross the room and kneel in front of her resting my forehead against her knees. “I don’t know how to save us.”

Her fingers twitch against the rope. “Then stop trying.”

“I can’t.”

“August.”

“I can’t watch you do this again.”

“You’re the one disappearing.”

“Yes.”

“Then let me choose.”

I look up.

She’s crying. “I would rather lose you because I loved you than spend another life wondering what it felt like.”

My throat closes.

I untie her.

That night, we stop fighting.

Three weeks later, she holds me while I die.

Except I don’t die. Not completely.

I wake six days later.

Alone. My body restored.

Eleanor gone.

On the pillow beside me is a note.

I remember everything now. I’m sorry.

I find her in the Thames. The memory fractures.

1921.

Music. Laughter. The parlor.

There she is. This is the memory I told Lenora about.

Furniture shoved against the walls. My voice ruining a song. Her bare feet on top of mine.

She’s laughing so hard she can barely stand. “You’re terrible.”