Page 275 of Before We Were

"I hope he's worth it," he says finally, voice soft but bitter.

Something snaps inside me.

"That's the difference between you and Nate," I say, my voice shaking. "Nate would never ask me to stay. What you see is something to hold onto or fit into your life. I don't want to fit into anyone's life."

Jake flinches and without another word, I push back my chair and walk out, leaving him behind with his carefully constructed plans that never had room for who I really am.

The cool breeze hits my face, but it does little to cool the fire burning inside me. Because this isn't about choosing between brothers. This is about choosing myself, about acknowledging that love shouldn't feel like fitting yourself into someone else's puzzle.

This is about me.

My life, my choices, my future.

That's what I keep telling myself, and it's true—mostly. But deep down, I know that's not the whole story. Because even when Nate isn't here, even when he's broken my heart in ways I didn't think were possible, he's still the one who sees clearly enough to know that sometimes love means stepping aside so the other person can soar.

Staring at my packed bags,I feel the weight of every memory this room holds. The bare walls and empty drawers whisper of a life I'm leaving behind, but it doesn't ache the way I thought it would. Bones sits on my pillow, my childhood confidant, his fur worn velvet-soft from years of catching my tears and muffling my secrets. I trace my fingers over his floppy ears one last time, considering whether to take him with me. But with a soft smile—not sad, but knowing—I place him back where he belongs. Sometimes the bravest part of moving forward is choosing what to leave behind.

The discman catches my eye on my nightstand, Nate's letter safely tucked inside my journal. His words echo in my mind:You've always been the song I can't get out of my head.

For so long, I've been harmonizing with someone else's song, matching my rhythm to theirs. I think that's what Nate realized when he wrote his letter. In order for two people to find their way back to one another, to be good for one another, they first have to be good for themselves.

Love—real love—isn't about possession.

It's about freedom.

It's about understanding that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is choose yourself. If you can't show up for someone in the way they need—or if they can't love you the way you need to be loved—then the most honest thing you can do is let go. It's not easy, but nothing worth having ever is.

There's a forever kind of magic in some moments, just like there's a forever kind of feeling for the dark-haired, amber-eyed boy who will always be a part of my story, even if he's not my ending. I don’t think Nate was ever meant to be my ending, but rather the catalyst that helped me find my own beginning. Some people come into your life not to stay, but to show you who you're meant to become. Like seasons changing, life moves in both directions—forward and backward—and the choices we make ripple through both.

This past year has taught me that nothing is permanent.

Not moments, not feelings, not people.

Everything is fleeting.

But maybe that's the point.

"Sometimes we get second chances not just for ourselves, but for all the people who need us in their story."

Standing in this empty room that holds so many memories, I finally understand what Dad meant.

London isn't just a destination—it's a declaration.

A second chance, a statement that says: I choose me.

I choose my dreams, my growth, my happiness. I choose to no longer be defined by the pain I've endured and suffering I've chosen. Grief is really just love with nowhere to go. All of that unspent love gathers in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and the hollow part of your chest. It builds until you think you might shatter from the weight of it. But you don't.

You learn to carry it, to let it shape you into someone stronger, someone deeper, someone more real. Because maybe that's the point of second chances—they're not about erasing what was, but about becoming who you need to be for all the chapters yet to come.

As I zip up my last bag, I feel it—that flutter of excitement mixed with fear, that electric current of possibility running through my veins. This is what it feels like to choose yourself. To step into the unknown not because someone else pushed you, but because you're finally ready to fly.

Will things ever be the same? No.

But they're not meant to be.

Maybe the cracks are meant to serve as reminders of what you survived, what you overcame to become this new version of yourself. The healing lies in the cracks, in the glue that fills them, making them beautiful in their brokenness.

I glance around one last time before closing the bedroom door shut.

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