Late Repentance

Ronan spent six years photographing wildlife, and I stayed by his side as he rose from an unknown amateur to a signed professional.

During his hardest year, I drained my savings for himcamera lenses, off-road rentals, shooting permits. Last year, when he was nominated for an international award, I asked if I could join him in the Yukon to see the timber wolves he always talked about. He didnt look up, just kept wiping his lens. Conditions are too brutal. You arent cut out for it. I said okay and never asked again.

This May, a major outdoor magazine released a Wilderness Photographers Special Edition. Ronan was on the cover, locked in a standoff with a lone wolf, rugged and impossibly handsome. The credit listed two names: Ronan and Lily.

Inside, a candid showed them clinking tin mugs by a bonfire. He was smiling, relaxed, his arm draped over her shoulder. The caption read: Best partner. Forty days in the tundra. Couldnt have done it without you.

I set the magazine down, brewed my coffee, and drank in silence. Then I booked a one-way ticket to Banff National Park. For six years, I had stayed in the city managing his life so he could chase his dreams. If there was no room for me in his wilderness, I would go see the snow-capped mountains alone.

...

"Megan, Lily is taking the guest room tonight."

The front door pushed open.

Ronan strode into the entryway, dropping three massive waterproof gear duffels onto the floor.

It was his first day back from the Yukon expedition.

I was sitting on the couch, holding a mug of coffee that had gone completely cold.

I looked past him.

Lily peeked out from behind his broad shoulders. She was wearing an oversized men's Arc'teryx hardshell jacket.

"Hey Megan, sorry to crash here!"

She giggled, casually slipping her feet into a pair of fluffy pink house slippers by the shoe rack.

Those were my slippers.

Ronan kicked his boots off.

"A pipe burst in her apartment building. The landlord hasn't fixed it yet, so she is going to stay with us for a few days."

"The guest room is my art studio," I said.

It was packed with my drawing tablets, canvases, and the commissioned drafts I was working on.

"I won't take up much space, I promise."

Lily walked right past me, reaching for the water pitcher on the coffee table.

"And I totally swear I won't touch any of your precious little paintbrushes."

She poured a glass of water and gulped down half of it.

"God, Ronan, I am dying of thirst."

She didn't call him Mr. Ronan or boss. Just Ronan.

Ronan shrugged off his jacket. Without a second thought, he took the glass from her hand and drained the rest of her water.

The movement was painfully natural. Like they had done it a thousand times.

"Just tidy up the studio a bit and clear enough space for a bed," he said, turning to me.

His tone was a corporate memo. An order, not a discussion.

"There is no bed in there."

I stared at the glass they had just shared.

"There is only a pull out sofa, and my wet oil paintings are currently drying on it."

Ronan frowned.

"Then move the paintings to the living room. Lily just survived forty days in the freezing tundra. Her back is killing her. I am not making her sleep on a lumpy sofa."

Her back was killing her.

Six years ago, when he shot his first starry night time lapse, he was too broke to afford a thermal tent.

I stood in the snow in ten degree weather, keeping him company for three nights straight.

The extreme hypothermia wrecked my immune system and left me with severe chronic pelvic cramps. Every month, I was in so much pain I couldn't even stand up straight.

He forgot.

I stood up and walked toward the studio.

"Fine. I will clear it out."

"You are the best, Megan!" Lily called out behind me.

I carried the oil paintings out one by one, leaning them against the corner of the living room.

I pulled out the folding mattress.

I laid down fresh, clean sheets.

When I walked back out, Ronan was sitting on the living room rug, unzipping his gear bags and pulling out dry sacks.

Lily was sitting cross legged right beside him.

"Ronan, hand me the red bag."

She pointed at a corner of the duffel.

Ronan pulled out a red waterproof sack and tossed it to her.

Lily opened it and dumped a pile of souvenirs onto the rug.

There was a wolf tooth pendant, a few raw quartz stones, and a braided leather bracelet with a piece of turquoise.

"Help me put this turquoise one on."

She held out her wrist, leaning in close to him.

Ronan set his camera down. He picked up the bracelet and carefully fastened the clasp around her wrist.

"Perfect fit," he chuckled.

"Duh. You handpicked it for me."

I stood two steps away, watching them.

Ronan looked up and finally noticed me.

His expression froze for a fraction of a second before snapping back to normal.

"Megan, come look at this."

He pointed at the floor. "The locals at the trading post gave these to us. Lily picked out a few, see if you like anything that is left."

Anything that is left.

I walked over and looked down.

A few dull, gray rocks and a cheaply made wooden beaded necklace.

"Where is the hand braided alpine wool bracelet you promised me?"

I asked calmly.

Before he left for the Yukon, he told me about a local Indigenous artisan who wove bracelets from naturally shed wildlife wool. It was supposed to symbolize peace and protection.

I told him I wanted one.

He had promised me he would get it.

Ronan froze.

His hand dug around in the dry sack. His movements grew slower and slower.

"About that..."

"Oh my gosh, Megan, I am so sorry."

Lily suddenly cut in, raising her right hand.

Right next to the turquoise, wrapped around her wrist, was a beautifully crafted, authentic alpine wool bracelet.

"We only found one at the trading post."

Her voice was thick with innocent guilt, laced with a sickly sweet whine.

"Ronan said I worked so hard carrying the heavy tripods in the tundra, so he gave it to me as a reward."

She stroked the woven threads.

"You aren't mad at me, are you?"

I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Ronan.

"You gave it to her?"

"It is just a piece of string."

Ronan avoided my gaze, picking his lens cloth back up.

"They sell that stuff everywhere up there. We were on a tight shooting schedule, I didn't have time to shop around."

"Next time. I will buy you a dozen of them next time."

Next time.

For six years, those were his favorite two words.

When he couldn't afford a diamond ring, he said he would make it up to me next time.

When he missed my birthday because he was on a shoot, he promised to double the celebration next time.

And now, even a simple, promised bracelet was pushed to next time.

"Megan, if you really love it that much, I can take it off and give it to you."

Lily made a big show of tugging at the clasp.

She fumbled with it for a few seconds.

"Ugh, the knot is tied way too tight."

"Forget it. Leave it on."

Ronan grabbed her hand, stopping her.

He looked up at me.

"Megan, are you seriously going to make a scene over this? Lily bruised her legs up hiking through the brush to find my camera angles. Is it a crime to give her a souvenir?"

His tone was dripping with impatience.

He thought I was being irrational. He thought I was petty and jealous.

I looked at his hand, still resting protectively over Lily's fingers.

Long, elegant fingers. Prominent knuckles.

Those were the hands I had babied and cared for over six years of my youth. I took extra commissions and stayed up until dawn just so those hands could hold expensive cameras.

Now, those hands were protecting another woman.

"No. It isn't a crime."

I said softly.

I turned around and walked toward the kitchen.

"There are frozen dumplings in the fridge. You can boil them yourself."

"I am not hungry."

Ronan called out behind me.

I didn't look back.

I unlocked my phone and opened my Expedia app.

My flight to Banff National Park was already paid in full.

Departure date. Three days from now.

The next day was Saturday.

The outdoor magazine hosted a small, exclusive book signing and networking event to celebrate Ronan's special edition selling over a hundred thousand copies.

At eight in the morning, I was standing in the kitchen frying eggs.

Ronan emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and immaculate.

He wore a black turtleneck under a premium Arc'teryx jacket gifted by his sponsors.

He looked sharp. Triumphant.

"I am heading out. Gotta set up the venue by nine."

He walked to the entryway to put on his shoes.

I slid the fried egg onto a plate and carried it out.

"Am I not going?"

I asked him.

He paused, his hand hovering over his boot laces.

He stood up straight and adjusted his collar.

"Why would you go?"

"It is strictly industry people today. Sponsors, editors, rival photographers."

"You aren't in the business. You wouldn't know what to talk about. You would just sit there looking bored."

I set the plate down on the dining table.

"Six years ago, when you self published your first photo book, you didn't sell a single copy."

"I stood out in the blistering sun, handing them out to strangers, begging people to look at your work."

"Why didn't you tell me I wasn't in the business back then?"

Ronan's brows pulled together.

He hated it when I brought up the past.

"Megan, do you always have to keep score?"

"Things are different now. Today is an official, professional event. I have to network. I don't have the energy to babysit you."

He sounded so incredibly righteous.

The door to the guest room clicked open.

Lily walked out, stifling a yawn.

She was wearing the exact same Arc'teryx jacket, just a size smaller.

Matching outfits.

"Morning, Ronan."

She strolled over to the dining table. Without asking, she picked up the fried egg from my plate and took a massive bite.

"Mmm. You are such a good cook, Megan."

"Finish up, we need to move. The chief editor is already on his way."

Ronan rushed her, but his voice lacked any of the cold impatience he had just directed at me.

I looked at the two of them.

"She is allowed to go?"

"Lily is the co-author of this special edition. Of course she is going."

Ronan spoke as if it was the most obvious truth in the world.

"She is my best partner."

Best partner.

What a beautiful title.

"Got it." I sat down and took a sip of my milk.

"Have a good time."

Ronan gave me a weird look. He seemed unnerved by how unnaturally calm I was acting.

He opened his mouth to say something, but swallowed the words instead.

The front door clicked shut.

I sat alone and quietly finished a breakfast with no eggs.

At eleven in the morning, my phone rang. It was Sloane.

Sloane was my college roommate and the senior editor at a fashion magazine.

"Megan, have you checked Instagram?"

"No. Why?"

"Your boy Ronan is soaking up all the glory at his little signing event."

"Good for him."

"Good for him my ass! Open Lily's page right now!"

Sloane was practically screaming through the speaker.

I put her on speakerphone and opened the app.

Lily had posted a photo dump ten minutes ago.

The center photo showed her and Ronan standing in front of a massive promotional banner.

Ronan was holding a microphone, addressing the crowd.

Lily stood right beside him, her head tilted, looking up at him with pure, unfiltered adoration.

The caption read:

"All those freezing nights in the snow, all the frostbitten fingers in the tundra. Today, it was all worth it."

"Thank you, Ronan."

The comments were flooded with industry insiders.

"Power couple alert!"

"Lily, you are a legend. Ronan is lucky to have you."

I scrolled through the comments one by one.

Staring at the blinding, toxic words.

"You see it?" Sloane demanded over the phone.

"I see it."

"Megan, are you literally blind? Half the photos in that magazine were color graded and retouched by you during your all nighters."

"The thirty thousand dollars he needed to fund that Yukon trip? You took out a second mortgage on your parents' old house for that!"

"And now some clout chasing assistant is standing on that stage soaking up your applause!"

Sloane was breathing heavily, absolutely furious.

I looked calmly out the window at the midday sun.

"Sloane."

"What?"

"I booked a one way ticket to Banff."

The line went dead silent.

It took several seconds for Sloane to find her voice. When she spoke, it was low and quiet.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't coming back?"

"I am not coming back."

"Good." Sloane let out a long, heavy exhale.

"Do you need help packing?"

"No. I can handle it myself."

I hung up the phone and walked into the master bedroom.

I pulled open the bottom drawer of the closet.

Two large, heavy duty suitcases were tucked inside.

I pulled one out and started stuffing my clothes into it.

I didn't own much. Over the last six years, every spare dollar I earned went straight into upgrading Ronan's camera lenses.

The closet was stuffed with his expensive Arc'teryx and Mammut gear.

My warmest winter coat was a clearance rack parka I bought three years ago.

My phone buzzed.

It was Ronan.

"Megan."

The background noise was chaotic. People were cheering his name.

"What is it?"

"I left my black external hard drive at the apartment. The one terabyte one."

He sounded frantic.

"It is in the second drawer on the left side of my desk. Can you bring it to the hotel right now?"

"I have a massive media interview in twenty minutes and I need the raw video files on it."

I looked down at the sweater I was folding.

"I am busy."

"Busy doing what? Drawing your cheap little three hundred dollar commissions?"

The insult slipped out of his mouth effortlessly.

He caught himself a second later.

"Megan, I didn't mean it like that. This interview is huge. The chief editor set it up personally."

"I am begging you. Just do me this one favor, okay?"

I closed my eyes.

For six years, every single "cheap little commission" I drew funded the film inside his cameras.

Now, he thought my work was a waste of time.

"Fine. I will bring it."

"Thank you. Call me when you get here."

He hung up immediately.

I dropped the sweater into the suitcase and zipped it up.

I walked into his office, grabbed the black drive from the drawer, and ordered an Uber to the event hotel.

The banquet hall was packed and roaring with conversation.

I didn't go inside. I stood in the quiet hallway near the side entrance and texted Ronan.

"I am at the side door."

I waited five minutes. The heavy oak door swung open.

It wasn't Ronan.

It was Lily.

She was holding a flute of champagne. Her cheeks were flushed.

"Hey Megan, Ronan is stuck on stage. He asked me to come grab it."

She held out her hand.

I looked at her.

"Tell him to come get it himself."

Lily let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Megan, can you please stop being so difficult?"

"The room is full of major investors. Ronan is telling them all about our near death experiences in the Yukon."

"If you drag him out here right now, you are going to ruin the vibe for everyone."

She hit the word "our" incredibly hard.

I ignored her and turned to leave.

"Megan!"

Ronan's voice echoed behind me.

He pushed the side door open and stormed out, his brow furrowed in anger.

"What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"

He snatched the hard drive directly out of my hand.

"Lily was nice enough to come out here to help you, and you give her an attitude?"

I stared at my empty palm.

"She told me to stop being difficult."

"Is she wrong?"

Ronan lowered his voice, his tone dripping with disappointment.

"Today is the most important day of my career. If you can't be helpful, the least you could do is not sabotage me."

Sabotage.

I repeated the word in my head.

"I guess after six years, the only thing I am good for is sabotaging you."

Ronan tugged at his collar, visibly irritated.

"I don't have time to argue with you."

He turned back to the door and glanced at Lily. "Come on, Lily. The boss wants to talk to you."

The heavy door clicked shut.

Locking me completely out of his glamorous, glittering new world.

I stood alone in the hallway.

I could hear the muffled applause from inside, followed by Ronan's confident, booming voice.

"I want to thank my team, especially Lily. Without her, none of this would have been possible."

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets.

I turned and walked toward the elevator.

That was the last delivery I would ever make for him.

By late afternoon, the sky turned a bruised, ugly gray.

Thick storm clouds suffocated the city.

I dragged an old cardboard box out from the corner of the studio.

I started packing away my life.

My coffee mugs, my throw pillows, my half used tubes of acrylic paint. I tossed them into the box one by one.

Suddenly, a familiar, agonizing spasm ripped through my stomach.

It felt like a jagged knife twisting in my gut.

I dropped the tape dispenser, clutching my stomach, and collapsed onto the armrest of the couch.

The pain didn't fade. It crawled up my spine, triggering a cold sweat that instantly soaked my shirt.

It was the chronic ulcer flaring up. The permanent souvenir from standing in the freezing snow six years ago.

The doctor had warned me. No physical exhaustion. No severe emotional stress.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and called Ronan.

It rang forever before he finally answered.

The background noise was deafening. Club music and the clinking of glasses.

"Yeah?"

Ronan shouted into the phone.

"Ronan, my ulcer is flaring up."

I gritted my teeth, forcing my voice to stay level.

"It is bad. Can you come home and take me to the ER?"

The line went quiet for a second.

"Your ulcer?"

It sounded like he had stepped into a quieter hallway.

"Why is it acting up now? Did you take your meds?"

"I took them. They aren't working. I can't even stand up."

"Hold on a second."

He covered the microphone, but I could still hear Lily's voice bleeding through.

"Ronan! The investors are asking about your availability next month. Get in here and take a shot!"

Ronan's voice returned to the line.

"Megan, the party is just peaking. All the VIPs are here."

"Can you just call an Uber and go to the ER yourself? I will come find you as soon as I wrap up here."

Go by yourself.

Through the blinding pain, I actually let out a weak laugh.

"Ronan, I am in so much pain I can't even walk to the lobby."

"Don't you have those prescription painkillers? Just pop two and tough it out."

A sliver of annoyance crept into his voice.

"Megan, I really can't leave right now. This is the turning point of my entire career. Can you just be understanding for once?"

Understanding.

I always had to be understanding.

I had to understand when he was broke. I had to understand when he neglected me. I had to understand why he needed a "partner."

"Okay."

I said softly.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He had already hung up.

I closed my eyes and tossed the phone onto the rug.

Gripping the edge of the couch, I forced myself to stand.

Inch by inch, I dragged my body to the front door and shoved my feet into my boots.

The rain was pouring in sheets by the time I made it to the lobby.

There were no cabs on the street. The Uber queue was fifty people deep.

I stood under the awning for ten minutes. The freezing wind sliced right through my thin jacket.

The cramps were so violent I dropped to my knees on the wet concrete.

Headlights cut through the rain. A black Land Rover turned into the driveway, its hazard lights flashing.

It was Ronan's car.

For a split second, I thought he actually had a conscience. I thought he came back for me.

I braced myself against the pillar to stand up.

The driver's side window rolled down.

It wasn't Ronan.

It was Lily.

She was wearing that oversized Arc'teryx jacket, leaning her head out into the rain.

"Megan?"

She looked down at me crouching in the storm, her eyes wide with fake shock.

"What are you doing sitting out here? Didn't Ronan say you were sick in bed?"

I stared at her.

"Why are you driving his car?"

"Oh, Ronan had a few drinks. He couldn't drive."

She patted the leather steering wheel.

"I am sober, so he told me to take his baby for a spin. I just came back to grab something."

"Grab what?"

"Ronan left a specific lens cap on his desk. He said he needs it for the afterparty, so he sent me to fetch it."

A lens cap.

I was sweating through my clothes in agony, stranded in a storm.

And he sent her to drive his prized car back to our apartment... for a piece of plastic.

"Megan, do you need a ride to the hospital? But Ronan told me to hurry back. They are all waiting for me."

Lily bit her lip, performing a perfect mask of hesitation.

"Do you mind waiting for a cab?"

I didn't say a word.

Holding onto the concrete pillar, I slowly pulled myself up until I was standing straight.

"Don't bother."

I turned my back on her and walked straight into the downpour.

The freezing rain battered my face, but the icy shock somehow dulled the twisting fire in my stomach.

I walked out to the main avenue and flagged down a taxi that had just dropped someone off.

"City General ER," I told the driver.

I didn't look back at the Land Rover.

The emergency room was a chaotic nightmare.

I registered alone. I got my blood drawn alone. I sat in a plastic chair in the corner of the IV room alone.

The harsh fluorescent lights burned my eyes.

I watched the clear medicine drip into my vein, drop by drop.

I pulled out my phone.

No texts from Ronan. Nothing.

Just a single voice memo from Sloane.

"Megan, are you okay? Have you seen the video Lily just posted?"

I opened Instagram.

Ten minutes ago, Lily had updated her story.

It was a five second clip.

In the video, Ronan was sitting on a plush leather VIP couch in a club, looking at his phone.

Lily's voice giggled from behind the camera.

"Ronan, you lost! Truth or dare?"

Ronan looked up, flashing a helpless, charming smile.

"Dare."

"Perfect." Lily's voice was dripping with sugar.

"I dare you to let me drive your car to the shoot tomorrow."

Ronan's Land Rover was his baby. He took out a massive loan to buy it two years ago. He was obsessive about it. He never let anyone touch the steering wheel.

When I got my license, I asked him to teach me how to drive it.

He had said: "Your spatial awareness is terrible. The clearance is too high. If you scratch it, the paint job costs a fortune."

In the video.

Ronan tossed his keys onto the glass table.

"Fine. It is yours."

His tone was completely indulgent. He didn't hesitate for a second.

I closed the app.

The pain in my stomach had officially gone completely numb.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

By the time the two IV bags were empty, it was 3 AM.

The rain had stopped.

I walked out of the hospital into the dead, empty streets.

I took a cab back to the apartment.

I pushed the door open. The living room was pitch black.

Ronan hadn't come home.

The guest room door was slightly open. It was empty too.

They had gone out to celebrate. They pulled an all nighter.

I flipped on the lights.

I walked over to the coffee table and swept the bottle of prescription painkillers directly into the trash can.

Then I walked into the bedroom and pulled out the suitcase I had started packing earlier.

I moved with clinical precision.

My toothbrush and towel from the bathroom.

My autumn sweaters from the closet.

My charging cables from the nightstand.

This apartment was suffocatingly full of his presence. The physical space I occupied was pathetic.

It took exactly one suitcase and two garment bags to pack up six years of my life.

I rolled the suitcase to the entryway.

I glanced at the paper calendar hanging on the wall.

Today was May 27th.

The day after tomorrow was May 29th.

Not only was it the day my flight left for Banff.

It was also the exact date of my six year anniversary with Ronan.

May 29th.

Two in the afternoon.

I shoved my final jacket into my suitcase and zipped it up.

Right on cue, the delivery driver knocked on the door.

I had ordered a tiny, artisanal strawberry cake.

Ronan hated sweets. Every anniversary before this, I always ordered a small cake meant for two.

This year, I ordered a cake meant for one.

I set the cake on the dining table and unboxed it.

I placed a single candle on top. I didn't light it.

The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment.

The door burst open.

Ronan practically sprinted inside. He didn't even bother taking his muddy boots off, tracking dirt across the hardwood floor.

He made a beeline for his gear cabinet.

"Lily is waiting in the car downstairs. I don't have time to change."

He spoke rapidly, aggressively shoving telephoto lenses into his camera bag.

"What is the rush?"

I sat at the dining table, watching his chaotic back.

"What happened?"

"Huge news."

Ronan's voice was buzzing with adrenaline.

"One of Lily's contacts in the forestry service found fresh footprints of a ghost puma in the northern ranges."

"Do you know how insane that is? Nobody has photographed a big cat in that sector in a decade!"

"We have to leave right this second to beat the National Geographic crews to the location."

He yanked the zipper shut and slung the heavy bag over his shoulder.

"How long will you be gone?" I asked.

"Hard to say. Two weeks, maybe a month. Wildlife doesn't run on a schedule."

He spun around, ready to bolt out the door.

His eyes swept past the dining table.

He saw the tiny strawberry cake. He saw me sitting quietly in front of it.

He froze.

His boots stopped moving.

"What is today?"

His brows knitted together, his brain desperately scrambling for context.

I just looked at him. I didn't say a word.

Several agonizing seconds passed. A look of profound guilt washed over his face.

"Today... is our six year anniversary?"

He finally remembered.

"Megan, I am so sorry."

He walked over, resting his hands on the edge of the dining table.

"This tip was completely unexpected. I cannot lose this shot."

"When I get back, I promise I will make it up to you."

"What do you want? A designer bag? That diamond necklace you were looking at last month? I will buy whatever you want when I get home."

He always used money to patch over his emotional absence.

Even though he wasn't exactly rich, he genuinely believed throwing a credit card at a problem erased the damage.

"No need."

I stood up. I picked up the cake knife.

I sliced the strawberry cake perfectly in half.

"You can go."

Ronan let out a visible sigh of relief.

"Megan, I knew you would understand."

He stepped around the table, reaching his arms out to pull me into a hug.

I shifted my weight and stepped cleanly out of his reach.

His arms hung awkwardly in the empty air. He slowly lowered them.

"Are you still mad I didn't pick you up from the ER?"

He let out a heavy sigh.

"I told you, I had too much to drink. I couldn't drive. Lily was just doing me a favor grabbing my gear."

"Stop looking at her like she is the enemy. She is basically one of the guys."

Honk. Honk.

The aggressive blare of a car horn echoed from the street below.

Lily was getting impatient.

"Ronan! Hustle up! If we don't leave now we won't make it to the trailhead before sunset!"

Her voice pierced right through the window glass.

Ronan instantly straightened his posture.

"I really have to go."

He walked to the entryway and pushed the door open.

He looked back at me one last time.

"Take care of yourself. Don't forget your ulcer meds."

"Bye."

The door slammed shut.

The impact made my coffee mug rattle against the table.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain.

The black Land Rover was idling by the curb.

Ronan tossed his heavy bag into the backseat and climbed into the passenger side.

Lily was in the driver's seat. She leaned over the center console, intimately grabbing the seatbelt to buckle him in.

They shared a bright, excited smile before the engine roared, and the car sped out of the complex.

I watched the taillights disappear around the corner.

I walked back to the dining table.

I picked up a fork and took a bite of the strawberry cake.

It was sweet.

Sickeningly, artificially sweet.

I picked up the plate, walked over to the trash can, and dumped the rest of the cake inside.

I walked to the entryway. I took the silver apartment key off my keychainthe key I had used for six yearsand placed it gently on top of the shoe cabinet.

Then I grabbed the handles of my two suitcases.

I walked out.

I pulled the door shut until it clicked and locked tight.

At four in the afternoon, I arrived at the airport.

Check in. Security. The departure gate.

I moved through every step with absolute, terrifying calm.

The PA system chimed, announcing the final boarding call for my flight to Calgary.

I unlocked my phone and opened my text thread with Ronan.

The last message on the screen was the one I sent in the pouring rain two days ago: "I am at the side door."

I tapped the settings icon in the top right corner.

Scroll to the bottom. Delete Contact.

The second my thumb hit the red confirmation button, it was over.

Six years of history, completely wiped clean.

I grabbed my suitcase handle and walked down the jet bridge.

His Land Rover was speeding toward the forest.

My plane was taking off for the snow capped peaks.