My phone starts jumping on the nightstand next to my bed, metal case hitting hard against the wooden surface. The vibrating sound wakes me up and, for the first time in a long while, I'm thankful for it. The only reason I fell asleep in the first place was because my eyes were too sore, and my eyelids too heavy for me to keep them open. The tears have dried the skin around my eyes, making me feel as if my eyes are falling deep into my eye sockets. My dreams turned into nightmares once I've let bits of reality step into them. I've been running from my demons for years now, living under the delusion that I can actually escape them, but now that I've gotten too slow, and too tired, they caught up with me. Everything is too bright now, too violent, too much.

I reach for my phone, still half asleep, my face buried into a now flat pillow, and press it against my ear. "Hello?" I whisper, my voice barely recognizable, muffled by the cotton I'm desperately trying to speak through.

"Where are you?" someone shrieks on the other side of the line, and it takes me few moments to realize to whom the voice belongs to. The tone of Bonnie's voice wakens me up, making me detach my face from the pillow.

"Oh my God, Bonnie," I groan into the phone, "What time is it?"

I blink a few times, trying to get the sleep out of my eyes.

"It's 2pm," she says through her teeth, obviously angry at me, for reasons unknown to me. "I'm waiting for you to pick me up at the airport! I've been calling for you for the last hour! I've left you countless massages!" her voice starts dying down by the end, and she swallows the last few words, making them hardly understandable.

I stay silent, not knowing what to say. She's waiting for me to pick her up at the airport? Which airport? Where is she? And how am I supposed to pick her up? I don't even own a car! My head starts spinning with questions I know I should have answers to.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" she huffs once she realizes that being angry with me will bring her nowhere.

"No," I say quietly, embarrassed by having to admit that.

"Katherine e-mailed you. I texted you and left you massages when you wouldn't pick up your phone," she exhales disappointingly, but when the next words come out of her mouth, her voice is filled with worry. "Elena, what's going on with you?"

My already sore and dry throat tightens, making it hard for me to breathe, or speak. "I – " I start, trying to think of some kind of an excuse, like I've been busy, or the reception is really bad out here, but I give up on it. Bonnie deserves more. She's my best friend, she would never judge me, and I've been keeping enough secrets from her as it is. No need to add more to the pile. "I don't want to talk about it over the phone. We will talk eye to eye."

"Then come pick me up!" she says exhaustedly, worry for me still stretching her voice.

"Where are you?" I ask, getting out of the bed, finally. I haven't left it in days, other than to go to the bathroom. My feet welcome the ground and the fuzzy carpet underneath them, but it's like my legs are not accustomed to walking anymore, so I sway left to right with every step that I take.

"Charlotte."

"Why are you in Charlotte?" I narrow my eyes, rumming through my luggage in order to find something to wear. Something that is not creased or already worn.

"Well, if you've read any of the e-mails Katherine had sent you, you would have known that I've been assigned to photograph your darling little town," she makes a pun and I can basically hear her grinning at how witty she is. "Which means that I'll be staying for as long as you are. Or, well, at least until you finish your article."

"Oh," I say, probably less enthusiastically than I should have. My best friend is coming to stay with me in a town I've told her I don't actually like all that much – I should be elated. By the thought of my new life colliding with my old life still scares me shitless. "That's great!" I try to alter my mistake quickly, before she notices it or has time to react to it, "There's no one better for the job, and no one I would rather have by my side than you, of course! There's just one tiny problem.." I drift off, finally finding unworn jeans and sleeveless shirt over which I can throw a cardigan.

"Yes?" she whimpers.

"I don't have a car.." I admit, biting my lower lip.

"What?" she barks at me, shocked more than anything else, "What do you mean you don't have a car? How did you come to Darling, then?"

"By bus," I answer lightly.

"By bus?" she repeats, horrified. I know very well that you can't ask a born and raised New Yorker to take a bus from Charlotte to Darling. They don't trust public transportation. But I basically grew up on a bus, seeing as my father was either busy working, or busy resting, so I felt bad about asking him to drive me anywhere. That stopped once Stefan got his drivers license and became my personal chauffeur – by choice, of course. "Why wouldn't you take a rental?"

"I'm a really bad driver," I make an excuse, "No one wants me on the road. And while I don't own a car, I might know someone who does. So, just, hold tight, and wait for me. Get something to eat. Go to Dolce, it's five minutes away from the airport. If you can't find it, ask someone to show you, everyone know that place. They serve apple pie with real Italian ice cream. You can thank me later. And Bonnie.."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I can hear her lips stretch into a smile over the phone, "Just hurry."

We both hang up at the same time and I hurry into the shower. I know I don't have time to wash my hair, so I tie it up into a messy bun. At least I look rested from all that sleep.

"Elena!" my mother exclaims when she sees me coming out of my room, "You're up!"

I haven't been up for days. I fell into some kind of a depression. After being at Will's grave, I just broke down, losing my will to do anything. Just like after he passed away. I barely ate anything, which I can feel consequences of once my stomach starts protesting upon smelling my mothers cooking. I put my palm over it, trying to silence it, but taking a mental note to get something to eat.

Bonnie coming here is good. It will take my mind off of things.

"Yes," I give her a quick peck on the cheek, "I have to go now, but I'll explain everything later, I promise."

"But – " she starts to protest, confusion coloring her features. No wonder, I act like a corpse for a week, then all of a sudden I spring to life.

"Mom, I really have to go now," I throw my bag over my shoulder, "But we will talk later today, when dad is home as well, okay?"

"Okay," she nods, kissing me back. My mother has always been an understandable woman, easy to handle.

I hurry out of the house, just in case, and make my way downtown. The weather is a bit off today, there's a chilly breeze out there, making goosebumps appear on every exposed inch of my skin. Wearing just a thin cardigan stands for a very poor decision, especially since I'm wearing just a simple top underneath. I cross my arms, hugging myself in order to warm myself up, pulling my palms over the entire length of my arms.

I take a running step towards the Empire, partly because I don't want to keep Bonnie waiting any longer than she has to, partly because I can't wait to step inside from this cold.

The place is not that packed anymore, seeing that for some lunch hour has passed, while for some it hasn't even started yet. I see Caroline immediately, standing behind the counter, making rapid left to right movements. I hurry in her direction, startling her a bit when I say her name from a distance.

"Elena.." she looks at me, eyes wide, as if she didn't expect to see me here. Ever again. It makes me wonder has Stefan told her anything about what occurred between us last week. "You look less fancy than usual," she notices, pulling her eyes over the entire length of my body. I do look less fancy, in simple, everyday clothing, my hair not taken care of, not a bit of makeup on my face. Back in New York we call this my home edition. The only place I go dressed like this is Dunkin' Donuts. "Still beautiful, though," she smiles, dragging her eyes back to my face.

"Thank you," I retort friendly, "I need a favor." I don't beat around the bush, but jump right to it.

"Oh?" she shapes her tiny, strawberry lips into a small letter o, resembling one of those porcelain dolls.

"Do you have a car?" I almost cross my fingers for good luck.

Her whole face falls, as if she already knows that she's going to disappoint me with her answer. "We have a truck, and it's with Damon, and Damon's at work."

"I have a car," another voice appears in our, until now, two way conversation, and all it takes is one syllable to make my bones shake as if there's a quake inside of my body. Stefan sidesteps me and stands next to Caroline, looking for something under the counter, or at least very well pretending to do so. "What do you need a car for?" he inquires.

I want to tell him that that's none of his business, but the words never leave me. All I can hear is a roaring laughter stuck in my belly – weak, weak, weak, you're so weak. I am. Some things break me so easily. And I am not, because I always push them away, but never break them, so they keep coming back for me.

"My friend is coming to visit me, and I need to pick her up at the airport. In Charlotte," in the end, it is his business, because I'm the one who needs something from him, not the other way around. Caroline gives me a look, curious to know who this friend might be. "She's actually a colleague of mine," I explain further, "She's coming here for work related obligations."

"You don't have a car?" Caroline raises her eyebrow at me, "How did you come here from Charlotte then?"

"I took a bus," I say. Just like when we were teenagers. "I don't drive," Caroline's expression becomes somber. Not anymore.

"I'll drive you," Stefan offers himself, straightening himself up, with a plastic box full of empty bottles in his hands. He was looking for something after all. "I just have to take care of this," he looks down at the box in his hands, "And then we can go."

"You don't – " I start, but he interrupts me in the middle of a sentence.

"Have to. I know that I don't have to. I'm still going to. Just wait for me here, okay?"

I stretch my lips into a thin line. "Okay."


I stare at a bit of plastic stuck between my fingers. My knees are shaking, my bones clattering, striking against each other. I've been in here forever, my mom stopped by a couple of times to ask me if everything is alright, so I've had to keep my voice from quivering to tell her not to worry, that everything is fine. Even tough my voice is producing a humming sound inside of my throat without me having to open my mouth, my insides are still too shocked to produce tears.

I've been feeling queezy for several days now. My stomach has been bothering me, and I thought it's from something that I ate, which was highly likely, considering all the junk food I've been eating recently. But I've noticed that my nausea is consistent only in the early hours of the day, and I started craving weird and unusual food combinations, like chocolate and pickles, or cheese and mayo on salty crackers. I'm constantly sleepy, I get tired extremely easy, and I start groaning just at the thought of doing something. So, this morning, I called in sick at work, and went to a drug store to buy a pregnancy test. The rumor is probably out by now, this being a small town and all. If I'm not pregnant, I'll just deny ever buying it, and if I'm really pregnant, I'm too fucked to care what other people think or say.

As it turns out, I'm too fucked to care what other people think or say.

There's a clear, pink plus sign on a all white, plastic stick. It's positive.

I'm pregnant.

I can't be. I just graduated 8 months ago. I took a job at the local store just so I can afford to take night classes at Charlotte University. I wanted to get a degree, start my career, maybe even get the hell out of this place, maybe stay and change things around here, make something grand. And Stefan..

Oh God.

I squeeze my eyes shut, so that the pictures in front of my eyes can disperse into the nothingness it came from.

What's Stefan going to say to all of this? We're 18 years old, a baby doesn't really fit into our lives.

I squeeze the plastic stick in my closed fist, wishing it out of existence.

I have to tell him, I say decisively in my mind.

So I finally leave the bathroom, a room I've been hiding in for the past 45 minutes. I put the pregnancy test in my bag, partly so no one else finds it, partly to show Stefan in order he needs any proof.

In front of my mom, I act as if everything is fine. I even have a waffle.

Well, that wasn't actually such a torture, since I've been craving homemade waffles for days now.

She doesn't suspect anything, and if she does, she doesn't say anything about it. They say a mother always knows. Maybe the magic in that is that a mother knows when not to ask any questions.

I make my way to the mechanic shop where Stefan's working at, calm and collected on the outside, a raging storm on the inside. It's a twenty minute walk from my house, so it gives me time to go through everything in my head one more time. Better yet, several times more. I say it so many times that the words stop making any sense at all.

When I finally reach the shop, I take a big intake of air before stepping in. I find him by the wooden wall equipped with mechanical tools, at the far end of the room.

"Stefan," I say his name weakly.

The sound of my voice makes him turn around instantly, whipping his head in my direction before the rest of his body. When he sees the look on my face, his smile falters, and his face adapts an expression of worry. "Elena," he sets the tools in his hands on the small table in front of him, before taking a step towards me, "What's wrong?"

"We have to talk," I tell him the worst four words connected in a sentence that one person could ever say to another. "Somewhere private," I point out when two of his colleagues enter the room.

He swallows, as if that's enough to prepare him for what's to come.

"My truck's in the back, we can talk there."

I nod for confirmation and he takes my hand in his to lead me to his truck. I can feel him relax a bit when I don't pull my hand away from his. We leave the building from the back exit, right in front of which the old, rusty truck his father used to drive is parked. He opens the door for me to climb in, and once I do, he shuts the door behind me and hurries over to the other side to take a seat.

"So," he says awkwardly, not knowing how else to start, "What's up?"

I can feel him staring at me as if he's silently begging me to look at him, but I just can't will myself to do so. I can't look him in the eyes and tell him that..

I'm afraid of his reaction. I know Stefan would never do anything to purposely hurt me. But we're just a couple of kids with our whole lives ahead of us. We haven't even discussed our future yet, even though we're together for two years already. Stefan says it's bad luck. And this isn't? It's not like we were careless, we were always using protection, but I guess it's true when they say that you can never be 100% safe.

"I don't even know where to start.." I start, my voice muffled, full of confusion and pain and fear. All the words I've thought of before seem meaningless now.

"Hey," he inches closer to me, placing his palm on top of my hand, "You know you can tell me anything."

I know, I know, I say in my head, partly as a response, partly to reassure myself.

"I've been feelin' kinda off lately," I look down at his hand covering mine, hoping it's going to stay there even after I share the news with him. I need it to stay there.

"Off how?" he asks worriedly, curiously, not letting me to finish the sentence.

"It's hard to explain," I clear my throat, squeezing my eyes shut, as if that's going to magically summon my courage, "I was always hungry, but at the same time disgusted by the thought of food. When I ate, I simply couldn't keep the food down. I was tired no matter how much I slept, I was lacking energy and simple, everyday tasks became hard to deal with. I didn't know what's wrong with me.." I swallow. He squeezes my hand with his fingers, and the warmth of his touch sends a bolt of energy through me, jolting me with enough courage to look him in the eyes. "Not until I realized that I'm late. Two weeks."

I watch him as realization fills his eyes. I can see his lips spell the word late, but no sound leaves his mouth.

"I took the test this morning. It's positive."

He keeps staring at me, not knowing what to say.

Say something. Anything, really, I beg him silently in the privacy of my mind.

"I'm sorry," he says, his face still conveying a mixed expression of disbelief and surprise.

That's not the reaction I've been expecting at all. Truthfully, I don't know what I was expecting, but I know it wasn't this.

"You're sorry?"

He pulls his hand away, but only to bury his face in both of his palms, hiding from me. "Oh dear God Elena, yes, of course I am," the words he says fight to be heard through his skin and flesh and bones, "You're working so hard to get what you want. You got a job, you're taking those night classes so you can get out of here and now this fucks everything up for you. I fucked everything up for you," he emphasizes the word I in that sentence, "I never wanted to be the one to hold you back from anything."

"Wait," I say, his words taking my mind off of the main topic, "Is that what you think? That I'm taking night classes so I can get away from here?"

He moves his hands away from his face, looking at me confused. "Well, yeah," he replies, and he's right, I've been talking about moving away as long as we know each other.

"Stefan.." I say as if I'm just realizing this now. In a way, I am. Or at least this is the first time that I'm admitting it to myself out loud. "I don't want to leave. Not necessarily. The reason why I wanted to go to college was because I don't want to spend my whole life working as a store clerk. I want something more, and who says that with hard work and creativity I can't accomplish that here?"

"You always talked about leaving," he bows his head down, looking at his lap.

"Yeah, when I was, like, ten. I was so intent on leaving this place. Then I grew up and realized that leaving this place would also mean leaving the people that I love. Like my parents. Caroline. You," I smile and, as if he can feel it in the sound of my voice, he raises his head up and looks at me, "And I'm not ready to do that just yet. Looking at it now," I put my palm over my stomach in order to emphasize what I'm talking about, "I don't think I'm ever going to be."

"This complicates things," he exhales, looking down at my stomach.

"It does," my cheeks warm up, becoming bright red, "But it is what it is. And we're gonna manage somehow. Because we love each other. Right?" I ask innocently, naively, needing him to confirm that to me.

He smiles at me warmly, and for me, that's good enough. "Right."


"So, umm," I say, not able to bear the silence anymore, "Thank you for doing this."

"You said that already," he stares straight ahead, his eyes on the road, the look in his eyes stern and awake. Serious. But the corners of his lips jump into a light, unwavering smile. "Twice."

Yeah, I guess I have, since that's the only thing either of us said since we got into the car, and we're just fifteen minutes away from the airport now. I've called Bonnie to inform her that I'm coming to her rescue.

"Listen, about the other day.." I start, biting my lower lip, nervous as hell, "I'm sorry I just took off like that, that was extremely childish of me."

I don't tell him how confused he had gotten me. How comfortable, familiar, refreshing.. nice, kissing him was. I don't tell him about the whirlwind of emotion he had ignited inside of me. I barely tell myself about it.

I don't tell him about going to Will's grave, especially not while he's driving.

"It's okay," he squeezes his fingers around the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, which is how I know it's really not okay. "It was foolish of me to think you haven't moved on in all these years."

"How about you?" I ask, worried that the conversation will die out if I don't continue it, and the silence would eat me up alive.

He narrows his eyes and his forehead creases. "How about me what?"

"How come you haven't moved on?" a part of me doesn't really want to know. A part of me is worried that he's going to actually tell me about the women he's been with since I've been gone. A part of me is worried that there are going to be many of them, some of whom I probably know, or knew, or was worried about in the past, back when I was a jealous teenage girl.

He doesn't answer my question. He doesn't say anything at all. Instead, he stays silent, and I realize that him not saying a word scares me so much more than him giving me an extensive list of his one night stands.

"It's hard to meet someone in a town where basically everyone know you're damaged goods," he answers after several minutes of silence.

I whip my head in his direction. "Damaged goods?"

He nods, slightly, his head barely moving up and down. "They know how much I loved you, and no one wants to compete with a ghost."

I take my eyes away from him, pulling my lips into a straight line. "How about April? I bet she doesn't think you're damaged goods."

"April was a one night mistake, Elena," he huffs, probably tired of getting asked that question. "She's nice, but she's not a woman for me. Plus, her father hates me."

I smile at that. "I'm pretty sure her father hates everyone, which is weird for a man who's supposed to conduct Gods will."

He smirks. "Amen."

We both get quiet again, which is fine by me, now that we're few minutes away from the airport, but this time he's the one who breaks the silence. "You kissed me back."

I furrow my brows at that statement. "What?"

"When I kissed you, you kissed me back," he looks at me from the corner of his eye, "And it wasn't just an impulse. We were kissing for several minutes."

I don't say anything in my defense because the truth is that I don't really have anything to say. I am guilty of what he's saying. I did kiss him back. I enjoyed kissing him back. And the worst part is, if I got to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

"What I'm trying to say is that happily engaged women don't go around kissing other people. Anyway, we're here," he shuts the engine off and looks at me, gripping the door handle. "Coming?" he asks me, already half way out of the car.

I follow his lead. I've told Bonnie to wait me at the airport lobby, so that's where we head first. We don't have to look for her, she's there, by the entrance, leaning against the wall, her eyes locked on the doors. When she sees me, she releases an evident exhale of relief, and makes her way towards us, pulling her suitcase behind her.

"Elena!" she swings her arms around my neck once she gets close enough to me to do so, "Thank God! I feel like I've been waiting here for days!"

"I'm so, so sorry, Bonnie," I squeeze her back, apologizing once again, "I have no idea what got over me."

But I do know.

We let go of each other, but Bonnie keeps looking over my shoulder, a questionable look in her eyes. I look behind me only to see Stefan standing there awkwardly.

"Oh, right," I say when I remember that they don't actually know each other, "Bonnie, this is Stefan," I step aside. Bonnie cocks her eyebrow at me, the corners of her lips jumping into a smirk.

She offers Stefan her hand. "Nice to meet you, Stefan," she says extremely friendly.

"Likewise," he shakes her hand. "Can I help you with your suitcase?" he asks, looking at her enormous, over packed, zebra patterned suitcase.

"Oh, it's okay," she answers, taken away by his politeness. No one in New York would ever give you a hand with your suitcase unless they want to rob you.

"I insist," he smiles, but doesn't take the suitcase until she gives him a permission to.

"Well, thank you," she smiles, which he takes as a yes, and grabs the suitcase by its handle. "Shall we?" he asks, showing us towards the exit.

I keep Bonnie busy with small talk, like how was her flight, how are things in New York, is Katherine freaking out more than usual. Stefan loads her suitcase in the back of his truck, and in the meantime I help Bonnie climb into it. You can't see cars this size in New York, there's simply no space for them, which is funny, considering it's one of the biggest cities in the world. When I get into the car, my stomach starts rumbling, reminding me that I still haven't eaten anything.

"You okay?" Stefan asks.

"Actually," I give him a pleading look, "Do you think we could stop at Clearance's? I'm starving."

He looks at the watch on his wrist, wiggling his lips. "I doubt we could find a parking spot there at this hour, so I'll tell you what. You two stay here in the car, and I'll hop over there."

"You don't have to do that," I argue, but so does my stomach, by making itself know.

"I can't let you starve to death now, can I?" he says through a low chuckle, "It's no problem, really. You want anything?" he turns to Bonnie who just shakes her head no to him.

"Okay. I'll be back in a few," he starts getting out of the car.

"I'll have - "

"Ham, no sauce, extra cheese?"

I nod, not surprised at all that the had remembered that, but I can feel my cheeks burning at the fact.

Once he leaves, Bonnie just leans in towards me and says, loudly, "Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl."

"Oh, shut up."


"So, where am I dropping you guys off?" Stefan asks when we pass the "Welcome to Darling" sign.

"You're staying at Darling Inn., right?" I turn to Bonnie.

"How did you know?" she asks curiously, since she has never mentioned where she's staying at to me.

My lips break into a smile, and Stefan laughs lightly, amused by her question. "That's literally the only motel in Darling."

"We don't get a lot of tourists," I add.

Bonnie tried to get some information out of me as soon as Stefan left for my sandwich, but I told her it's a long story and that she would hear it later. She's the one who kept talking for the most of the ride. I could see that Stefan likes her, he was smiling all the time, which made me weirdly happy.

"Oh, Elena, I almost forgot," he says after he takes Bonnie's suitcase out of the truck. He takes out a yellow envelope that's been lying on the back seat as well, giving it to me with a somber look on his face.

Our divorce papers.

"You signed them?" I ask in disbelief. After I've kissed him back I thought that's he's going to become even more persistent than before.

"Well, that's what you wanted, isn't it?" it's a question he doesn't really expect an answer to. "If you want to build your life with someone else, it's not my place to disrespect you by not allowing you to do so."

His words, their lightness and seriousness, catch me off guard, and leave me speechless. It takes me some time to respond to him, and once I finally do, all I say in return is a weak thank you.

It doesn't even sound like I mean it.

"Nice meeting you, Bonnie," he yells to Bonnie, who waves to him in return, before getting back into his truck and driving off.

We check her into Darling Inn., where she's the only guest, which is not surprising. As soon as we walk into the room, she turns to me, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Okay, I'm not denying that Matt is hella hot," she says, giving me an intense look, "But Stefan is a whole other level. He looks as a talking, walking work of Michelangelo. I have to reconsider our whole friendship solely on the fact that you actually left him in the first place."

"We kissed," I blurt out quickly, as if I'm going to explode if those words stay inside of me just a minute longer.

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that, since you've been married and all.."

"What?" I furrow my brows, "No, I mean, we kissed now! Recently!"

"Ooooh," Bonnie says, making a face as if she has burned herself, "That's bad."

"No shit," I retort, taking this opportunity to swear, which I hardly ever do, and the surprise shows on Bonnie's face.

"Did you kiss him, or did he kiss you?" she inquiries.

"He kissed me," I say, biting my lower lip, feeling guilty for dumping all the responsibility on him. "And I kissed him back," I admit.

"Was it a quick kiss or a full blown make out session?" she seems more curious than worried about the whole thing.

"Does it matter!?" I ask annoyed.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course it matters! If it was a quick kiss, if you pulled away from him right away, then you kissed him on impulse. Like, you can actually accuse your brain of making your lips carry out on one of the functions they were made to do!"

I squint at her. That makes no sense whatsoever!

"But if you made out with him, then you made a conscious decision to kiss him as if you're 16 and horny."

I don't say anything to that. Her logic makes me embarrassed of my choices.

"You made out with him, didn't you? Elena, you sly dog!" she smiles.

I fall on her bed, burying my face in my open palms. "You shouldn't be so happy about this, Bonnie."

"I'm not happy," she shrugs, getting down on the bed next to me, "I just don't think it's my place to judge you."

"No! Do the judging! I deserve it!" I whimper and, to that, she smiles.

"Who broke the kiss?"

"I did. I also told him about Matt. And now he signed our divorce papers," I show her the envelope I'm still holding in my hand.

"He did?" she asks, her whole face falling, "Well, that's disappointing," she crosses her arms over her chest, looking as grumpy as a child.

"Disappointing?" I ask, confused by her statement.

"Well, all things aside, I expected him to fight for you."

I chuckle. "Stefan is not that kind of a guy."

"A guy who loves you enough to do whatever he can to win you back? He seems like that kind of a guy. I mean, he remembers what kind of a sandwich you like. Once I've been dating a guy for two years and he couldn't even remember my middle name!"

I laugh out loud at that. "No, I didn't mean it like that. Stefan is very.. noble. Polite. He would never pressure me to do something I don't want to do. And coming here, asking him for a divorce so I can marry someone else, tells him I don't want to be with him for reasons other than when I left him six years ago."

"Even if that means losing you forever?" she asks in disbelief.

"If that's what I want, then yes. He respects me too much to do otherwise. Not just me, people in general. He also respects himself too much to bring himself in such a position."

"That's very nice. And rare. But also very.." she stops, trying to find the right word.

"Bad?" I ask, as simple as possible, and she nods. "Well, that's Stefan's flaw. He would sacrifice his happiness for happiness of the people he loves. And as noble as that is, it's often self destructive."

She stays quiet, taking all of that in. "But hey, you got what you wanted, you're free now. You can marry Matt."

"Yaaaay!" I cheer.

"You don't sound too happy about that."

Maybe because I'm not. I should be, but I'm not. Which makes me feel awful.

"Listen, Bonnie, there's something I have to tell you. The reason why I went all awol on your ass. But not today. It's a lot to take in, okay?"

She looks at me, looking as worried as she sounded over the phone today. "Okay."


When I get home, my parents are already sleeping, which means we won't be having that conversation today. I sneak off into my room, walking on my toes, trying not to wake them up. After I close the door, I tear the envelope open to make sure he had really signed the papers. I want to make sure it's real, and not some kind of a joke, even though I doubt he's capable of such a thing.

There it is, his signature, right where it's supposed to be.

But when I pull the papers out of the envelope, something else falls out as well. A note. I pick it up and start reading.

"Dear Elena,

if you want to marry someone else, I don't want to stand in your way towards happiness. Even though you don't seem happy. You can argue with me about this, but I've known you ever since you've mastered the craft of smiling, so I know which smiles are real, and which smiles are fake. Everyday. Required. You don't want to marry someone with an everyday smile on your lips. Happy women don't kiss with so much sadness in their breath, either. However, if I'm wrong, if these six years really did change you so much that all of your tropes have disappeared, then go ahead. Marry him. This signature is my blessing.

I can bet you, though, that if you don't give these papers to your lawyer, if you hold on to them for just a little while longer, you'll be the one who'll want to burn them, not me. I have nothing more to hold over you."

I sigh, taking a deep breath in. It's been a long day. It's too late to think about this.

I seal the papers, alongside the note, back in the envelope, and put them in the drawer of the nightstand next to my bed. I don't scan them and send them to my lawyer.

I've always loved a good bet.