APRIL

UPTOWN, CHICAGO, PRESENT

When the door shuts behind Jackson, my mind is spinning so fast that I have to lean against the wall.

I rest with my face in my hands, shoulder slumped inwards, wondering what we did. What we did, and what will happen next. Last night is fuzzy, coming back in bits and pieces. I drank way too much wine. I felt myself drinking too much wine, and I let it happen.

I think I knew what would come of it, and didn't want to fight it anymore.

I can't bring myself to regret our decision. But I'm pretty sure there were words exchanged between the sheets - heavy words, serious words - that there's no way of taking back.

I hear his voice ringing in my ears now, let's get married.

And I said something about the forever bracelets marrying us years ago. We'd spoken so nonchalantly, neither of us shocked or perturbed by the other's declaration. It was like we were airing out something we both already knew.

But now, he's gone. Now, I'm in my familiar apartment with my son, just like how things used to be. I can't even smell Jackson in the air; it's like he was never here at all.

I'm tempted to get my phone and pull up TMZ to see what kind of things they're saying about us, but I know if I do, I'll only get upset and probably do something irrational. Theo is in the next room. I have him right here with me. Under my wing, I can protect him. He's right where he needs to be.

Even though I refuse to look at the web pages, that doesn't stop me from picturing them. I imagine Theo's face plastered in the corner of popular gossip websites, his character sparking conversation between friends over coffee.

Did you hear that Jackson Avery has a love child? Did you hear he abandoned the mother while she was pregnant? I always thought he was a good guy. I guess all men are the same.

I clench my jaw, angry at the pretend conversation I'd made up. Jackson isn't the same - he isn't an everyday guy. He's special. He's different. He's mine, he's Theo's.

I pull out my phone and instead of digging for the articles, I find mine and Jackson's thread of messages and start typing.

SENT, 9:02am- I know you'll have to do interviews. But could you please talk about T as little as possible? I dont want info about him getting out. Privacy is really important to me. Thanks.

I leave it dry on purpose, because I don't know what my other options are. Thanks, love you? Thanks, kissy-face emoji? No, neither of those fit. And I'm not feeling those emotions right now, anyway. Right now, all I'm feeling is confused. And torn. And a deep sense of longing for something that I don't think was ever mine.

Jackson showed up and left so quickly. Just as we were building our tower back up, the world knocked it down.

I know better than anyone that life isn't fair, but I thought we were finally catching our break. I guess I was wrong.

I shut off my phone without waiting for a response. I think it will do me some good to put it out of my mind, devoting my attention to Theo and only Theo for the rest of today. I set my phone on a table near the couch and rejoin my son in his room, where he's still on the floor playing with LEGOs.

As I sit next to him, he looks at me with those soulful green eyes and blinks slowly.

"I builded a ship," he says, and points to what he's done.

It's impressive. He's always been good with his hands.

"That's awesome," I say, picking it up to examine it. "There's even a little guy in there. What's his name?"

"I don't know," Theo murmurs, and watches as I set it back down. "Did Daddy leave?"

The expression on his face makes my breath catch in my throat. I chew on the inside of my cheek and nod while inhaling deeply. "Yeah," I say.

Theo looks down at his rug, rolling a Hot Wheels car along the printed-on road. He veers it off after a moment and rolls it my way, then drives up on my leg to wheel over my thigh.

"He didn't say bye to me," he murmurs.

It occurs to me that he's right, Jackson didn't. I frown, feeling my throat grow tight as my son's sadness wafts off him in droves.

"He wanted to," I say, putting words in his father's mouth. "But he had a plane to catch."

"He went away on a plane?" Theo peeps, still rolling the car and not looking at me.

"Yeah," I say. "He had to go back to Seattle. He had a lot of stuff to figure out."

"Because of the people taking pictures."

"Yes," I say. "And he's been gone from home for a long time. His people back there were missing him."

My son nods solemnly, absorbing this information. "But it's not really fair," he says. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

"What's not fair, baby?"

"How come when those people miss him, he goes right back? But when I missed him, he didn't even show up 'til I'm 6?"

I close my eyes to try and center myself, upset because I don't have an answer. Not a clear one, at least. Suddenly, I regret every decision I've ever made. Leaving Ohio, keeping this little boy a secret, not letting Jackson in. I stole so much from Theo. This is all my fault, the way he's feeling right now.

"I don't know, honey," I say, and pull him onto my lap. "I just want you to know that I'm really, really sorry."

Theo wraps his arms around my neck and rests his cheek on my shoulder. "It's okay, mama," he whispers, and I squeeze him even tighter.

Our day is spent quietly. We don't turn the TV on, not even the radio. We play Theo's favorite CDs, which are a mix of Maroon 5, Bruno Mars, and Fleetwood Mac, but not even his favorite music can draw us out of our funk.

I get him to smile for the first time all day after lunch, when we're lying in his bed for a nap. He doesn't regularly sleep during the day, but it's raining outside and he asked to rest. The thought of turning him down didn't even cross my mind, so here we are, with full bellies, making hand puppets with our fingers.

Theo laughs at how bad mine are. I make them extra-ugly just to see him grin.

When his eyelids grow heavy and he blinks slower, I turn on my side and pull him close. "Are you okay?" I ask him. "Your daddy is coming back, I want you to know that. I don't know when, but he is."

Theo is quiet for a moment, staring out the window beside his bed. I let my eyes roam his face, pausing on his perfect features as he parts his lips to speak.

"Yeah," he says, his voice light as a feather. "I didn't get that much time to love Daddy, so I can try to stop being sad that he's gone and things can go back to how they used to be." His eyes move from the window to lock on mine. "Right, mommy? Me and you, like before?"

I press my lips to his forehead and pinch my eyes shut tight. I hold him close, the only thing I've ever done right, and hope he knows how much I love him.

He falls asleep before I can answer his question.

…

After our nap, Theo and I do some homework and eat dinner, then stay up too late watching movies. He falls asleep wrapped in a blanket on the couch, curled into a ball, and after he's been out for a while, I carry him to bed like I used to.

"Night, little man," I say, petting back his short curls that look so much like Jackson's.

On the way out of his room, I practically trip on the plush Seahawk on the floor and catch myself with a hand on the wall.

"Damn it," I hiss, nudging it out of the way.

Looking at the toy only reminds me of who gave it to Theo, and his face won't leave my mind after I leave the room and shut the door behind me.

I can't ignore the tight feeling in my chest. I feel like all of my emotions are personified within my body, ready to burst out. I grip the back of the couch and lean forward, bottom teeth scraping my upper lip, and shake my head while grimacing.

I have to call him. I can't keep all of this in, not again.

As the phone rings, I have no idea what I'm going to say. I start crying and wonder if he'll even answer, but eventually he does.

"April?"

I sniffle, trying to regain composure. "Hi," I say. "Yeah."

"Are you okay? Are you crying?"

I sniffle again, wiping beneath my eyes with my thumb, but new tears only replace the old. "Um… yeah," I say.

"Is everything alright?"

I clear my throat and walk away from Theo's room. The last thing I want is for him to wake up and hear me crying, then get worried.

"No," I say. "No, not really."

"What is it?" he asks. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

I sit on the arm of the couch and stare out the window, but the glass is dark so all I see is my reflection staring back at me. I'm unrecognizable, teary-eyed and ragged, worn down from the emotions coursing through my body.

I pride myself on being strong. For myself, for my son, for everyone in my life. I spent a few years getting kicked when I was down, but I pulled us up and out of that life. We're doing much better now, at least we were. Now, the twisted feeling in my gut tells me we're edging our way back to that place. It scares me to even consider.

"I don't feel like myself," I say. "Jackson. I depend on me. Just me. And this past week or so, that wasn't happening." I inhale and it rattles in my chest. "I wasn't depending on myself for anything really. To take care of Theo, for money, even for happiness. I was leaning on you."

"What's wr-"

"No," I say. "And then you go and take it away. It was a mistake, putting all of that on you, and I know that's on me. Just like everything else, that's my fault. And I was stupid for doing it, because you did exactly what I was scared you would when you first showed up. You left."

I start to cry harder, I can't help it. Tears stream down my face of their own volition and my voice raises in pitch, though I try to keep it at a reasonable level.

"I feel empty now!" I say. "Theo and I are wrecked. Things felt right, you know? When you were here. It felt like we were a family, like I somehow went back in time and took back what I did, and you were here. It felt like things are supposed to feel. I'm always so jealous of those families I see at his school, both the mom and dad coming to pick their kid up. And for a few days, we got to be that. But we were just playing pretend, Jackson! Did you know that the whole time?"

I try and catch my breath, but it doesn't do much.

"I don't just have to deal with my own confusion," I say. "I have to deal with his, too. You didn't even say goodbye to him, Jackson. Didn't even spare five seconds to say goodbye to your son. You hurt him."

"I-I know, I'm sorry. That wasn't right."

"No, it wasn't," I say. "And neither of us are doing all that great since you left. And all I can think of is that… is that…"

As I stutter, the anger builds within me. Unbridled rage, all directed at him. I don't know if it's warranted, but there's no stopping it.

"It would've been easier if you'd just stayed gone," I say, and my shoulders collapse after the words come out. I start sobbing with my head hung low, body trembling with feeling. I'm pushing him away, but what I want more than anything is for him to be here, holding me and telling me that everything will be okay.

But I can't stop punishing him for what I did.

The tone of Jackson's voice changes when he speaks again. "April," he sighs, and takes a deep breath. "Listen to yourself. Are you really looking for easy? Because I'm not."

I sniffle and try to breathe so I can listen to what he's saying.

"You don't mean that," he says. "I know you don't. You're lashing out, and that's okay, but you need to get things straight. If you remember, it wasn't my choice to be apart from you all this time."

"Are you saying that I'm getting a taste of my own medicine now?" I ask, snapping.

"No, listen to me," he retorts. "I know you regret what you did. I saw it on your face that very first night, so I vowed to never spend time making you feel guilty for it."

"So, stop throwing it back in my face every time you get upset."

"I need you to let me talk for one second," he says. Somehow his voice stays firm and even.

I shut my mouth and let him talk.

"I saw the look on your face when you handed me his school picture and told me I had a son. I saw everything, April, everything in your eyes. The regret, the sadness, the joy that I was gonna get to know him. And I felt all those things, too. And you've apologized. I've come to grips with it, you know? We can't get that time back. But why are you trying to get it back? Why are you keeping me at arm's length to try and phase me out of your life again?"

I don't know what to say. I pull my lower lip into my mouth and hold the phone with both of my shaking hands.

"You're scared," he says. "I get that. So am I. You're used to a certain kind of life, and I am, too. But neither of us are going to have those lives anymore."

I can't speak. I don't know what I'd say. He's hitting the nail right on the head, saying things I couldn't put into words myself.

There's a long pause, though, and I shut my eyes. Tears leak out and wash down my cheeks, leaving warm trails in their wake.

"You can't leave like I did," I say. "I know how easy it is. Not easy to leave the person, but easy to just go. Buy a ticket, start your life somewhere else, and go. It's simple. And you can't… Theo needs you."

He doesn't waste any time responding. "You need me," he says.

I open my mouth and only a small sound comes out. My thoughts come to a screeching halt.

"And I need you," he says. "I need you both."

I cry harder, new emotions coursing through me. Gratitude, realization, unending warmth. I want him more than ever. I want to wrap myself up in him and shield myself from the world with his strength. Because it seems he has more of it than I do at the moment.

"This isn't permanent," he says. "My being here. I just have to fix some things before we can move forward and figure out what's going on with us."

I cover my face with one hand and dissolve into tears again, sobbing so hard I don't make any sound.

"I'm sorry, Peach," he says, and I hear the melancholy tone of his voice. "I really am. I wish I could be there. Please, don't cry."

I catch my breath long enough to speak. "I love you," I say. "I meant it when I said it in bed. I really love you, Jackson."

I can hear the smile in his voice when he returns the sentiment. "I love you, too," he says. "So much."

…

The next morning, I wake up on time and hear the TV on in the living room. Theo must have woken up early, now waiting for me to help him get ready for school.

I trudge out in my slippers, tying my robe as I walk into the room behind the couch, trailing my hand over the back. "Morning, teddy," I say, voice raspy.

"Hi, mama," he says.

The TV plays a holiday commercial. It's nearing Thanksgiving, but it's been showing for weeks already.

"Whatcha watching?" I ask.

I sit down on the ottoman, close to where he is on the floor, elbows on my knees.

"Morning show," he says, shrugging. He glances at the screen, sees it's still on commercial, and looks back to me. He stands up and walks between my knees, wrapping his arms tight around my neck in a big hug. "Don't be sad, mommy."

I hold him just as tightly, furrowing my eyebrows. "What do you mean, little man?" I ask.

He pulls away, but our faces stay inches apart. I can see every thought swimming behind his green eyes.

"You were crying last night, really hard," he says. "But I don't want you to be sad. Don't cry, mama. I'll make you feel better. Because I know you miss Daddy but you did before, too, and we were still happy before we even knew him. And I'm still here. You're not going anywhere, right mama?"

"No," I say. "I'm not going anywhere."

He hugs me again. "I won't let you be sad," he says.

I kiss his warm, soft cheek, closing my eyes to soak up this moment. "I love you," I tell him. "You're the best thing God ever gave me."

He doesn't respond. He doesn't need to.

The TV switches back to the program from the commercial, and I see that Good Morning America is on. Robin Roberts is on the screen, looking sharp in red, talking to the camera.

"This morning, our special guest is someone whose answers have been highly coveted these past couple days," she says. "Luckily, he decided to come here and see us first. I'd like to welcome the one and only, Jackson Avery."

My shoulders tense. Theo stays where he is, standing between my knees, and I wrap my arms around him.

"Did you know your daddy was going to be on this show?" I ask.

"I read it on the Guide," he says. "I'm sorry, mama."

"Don't be sorry," I say, attention stolen by the sight of Jackson walking onto the stage to join Robin on a high stool. He looks great, dressed in black slacks and a dark green sweater with a collar underneath. I smile to myself, knowing someone else must have dressed him. If it were up to him, he'd be in a god-awful hoodie and a pair of jeans.

Both of us are enraptured by the TV, unable to tear our eyes away, as Jackson speaks. His voice is low and smooth, like butter.

"Morning, Robin," he says. "Thanks for having me."

"No, thank you," she says. "Thank you for joining us. A lot of people are trying to get a hold of you, I'm sure. We're honored you chose us."

He laughs gently and nods, keeping the easy smile on his face.

"You have a lot of buzz surrounding you right now," Robin says. "As I'm sure you know."

"I'm fully aware, yes," Jackson says.

"So, let's get into it, without any sugarcoating," she says, tone still amiable. "Clear this up for us. You… have a son?"

"I do have a son," he says. "That is true. "

Theo's energy changes before me. He turns to make eye contact, and I see the excitement in his gaze before he turns back to the screen.

"A son, but not with the girl you've been seeing in Seattle? Steph Edwards, your girlfriend of one year."

He shakes his head. "No," he says. "She's not the mother, correct."

"So, with the risk of being too forward, who is the mother of this beautiful little boy?"

My stomach is alive with nerves. I feel like I might throw up. The last thing I wanted to see was Jackson on television, laying everything out for the world. This information is private, I thought I made it clear that I wanted it to stay that way. So far, he hasn't said anything expository, but the interview's only just begun.

"My high school sweetheart," he says. "TMZ wasn't wrong on that, for once."

"How sweet," Robin says. "You don't hear stories like this much anymore."

"No," Jackson says. "You really don't."

"So, let's dive deeper," she says. "Why are we only just finding out about this situation? Why have you been hiding it from us?"

I watch his face, the micro-expressions no one else will see. He's trying desperately to formulate an answer, I can tell that much. I pray to God that he won't let too much go.

By doing this interview, it must mean that he's broken up with Steph already. At least, that's what I assume. Maybe I should've asked last night, when he told me he loved me. When he told me he needed me.

"There are certain things in life that do need to be kept private," he says. "My son is six. He lives in Chicago, with his mom. He doesn't need to be experiencing all that attention, and neither does she."

"Chicago," Robin says. "The choice is interesting. Why would she live there, while you're all the way in Seattle? Have they ever visited? Ever come to see you play?"

His mouth opens and closes, replaced with a glossy, fake smile. "Not yet," he says. "Soon."

"So, what went wrong?" she asks. "Your child and his mother live on their own, while you make a living across the country with a girlfriend. How did that come to be? There's something about this whole situation that just feels off, Jackson. You probably understand."

He clears his throat. "I do," he says. "And rightfully so. Um, you know, if I'm being completely honest, which I try to be… uh, I didn't find out about Theo until very recently."

"Theo," Robin repeats. "Adorable."

Jackson's eyes flash as he realizes what he's let loose. "My son," he says. "My son."

I blink quickly, still watching the screen as he vaguely explains our setup, but not hearing a single word. I feel like I'm trapped in a bubble now, one that I wish I could keep myself and Theo in to protect us. Jackson not only just said his name on national television, but people know where we live, and they now know mine and Jackson's story.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. I don't know what Jackson thinks he's accomplishing with this interview, but he didn't have the two of us in mind.

Suddenly, his words from last night trickle out of my head and all I can think about is how selfish he's being. Saving his image by lumping us into it, using his son as a fallback as to why he was seen with another woman while still dating Steph.

When the interview is over, I tell Theo to go pick out an outfit while I find my phone and dial Jackson's number. I assume he'll have a free moment to answer. I don't know what I plan on saying yet, but I know it won't be pleasant. And if he's still schmoozing with the Good Morning America people, I have no problem leaving a voicemail.

But after the second ring, the phone gets picked up. I expect to hear that familiar deep voice, but instead hear a different one - melodic, high-pitched and most importantly, female.

"Hello?"

My lips part and I blink hard, unable to believe what I'm hearing. I've heard Steph's voice on TV before, and I have no doubt this is her. I hang up the call, pressing the red button over and over with my thumb, and feel hot tears behind my eyes. He's still with her.

Everything he said last night was a lie.

MOLINE, OHIO, 8 YEARS AGO

It's a Saturday afternoon in late fall, our one-year anniversary. I'm sitting on Jackson's couch in a plaid skirt, white tights, and a sweater, waiting for him to finish wrapping the gift he got me.

I've already given him mine. I saved up all my allowance and bought him a new iPod, which he's been dying for. It's green, his favorite color, with all his favorite music already loaded onto it.

"I'm not getting any younger in here!" I call, giggling.

"Anything else outta you and I'm taking this back," he says.

I giggle again, crossing my legs and leaning my head back against the couch. I'm messing with a thread on my sweater when he finally comes out, holding a rectangular box with both hands. He was wearing short sleeves before, and now he has on long, though I'm not sure why.

"Okay," he says. "For you, my impatient, beautiful girlfriend."

I extend my fingers out to reach for the box, and he gives it to me with a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy one-year, Peach."

I unwrap it slowly and lift the lid, finding that what sits on top of the soft cotton is a silver bracelet with a plate in the middle. When I look closer, I see the word 'forever' is etched onto the plate in script.

"Oh, my god," I say.

"Let me put it on you," he says, and I give him my arm. He clasps the bracelet easily and I turn it so it'll catch the light. As I do that, he pulls up his sleeve and shows me that he's wearing its twin.

"You have one, too?" I ask, reaching to run my finger over it.

"Yeah. It's like a promise," he says, lifting his eyes from our wrists to meet mine. "Forever."

"A big promise," I say, holding his hands. As I blink slowly into his eyes, I've never felt love like this before. I come to realize that my entire world could fall apart, but if I still had him, it would be okay. As long as I always have him, everything will work out. "Let's not ever take them off."

He nods, agreeing. "I'll love you forever," he says. "I know it's just been a year for us, but…" He shrugs, face flushing. "April, it'll be forever."

"Forever," I repeat, getting closer and pressing the side of my nose to his. I close my eyes and drink him in, looping my arms over his shoulders. "I love you, baby."

We have sex right there on his couch. Slow, gorgeous, intimate sex that seems to erase all constraints and limits of time itself. He buries himself in my body and makes it his temple, showing how much he loves me and making me feel more beautiful than I ever have before. He worships me, and to me, he's the closest thing to holy.

As we lie there together after it's over, there isn't an inch of our bodies that don't touch. With one arm thrown around his waist, my face is tucked into the crook of his neck and I watch his pulse thrum steadily through his skin. I drag my fingertips over his chest, feeling his arm tighten around me just slightly, and kiss his collarbone.

"You know what I thought of?" I say, finding his free arm and pulling his wrist to my face so I can kiss it. I kiss the inside of it, the soft, vulnerable skin, and kiss the plate of the bracelet. It's cool against my lips, just like it was cool against other parts of my body while we had sex.

"What?"

"We'd make the prettiest babies."

Cocooned in the balmy afterglow of what we did, he doesn't blink twice at the sentiment of what I said. In fact, he even smiles because of it. "We will," he said. "We definitely will."

UPTOWN, CHICAGO, FOUR YEARS AGO

Kneeling at the side of Theo's bed, I stroke the side of his face as I sing him to sleep.

"They didn't have you where I come from…" I begin, voice soft as a whisper. "Never knew the best was yet to come… life began when I saw your face, and I hear your laugh like a serenade…"

He's two years old, still so much a baby. His plush lips grow slack, pouting as he falls deeper asleep, and his eyelashes flutter.

"How long do you wanna be loved?" I sing. "Is forever enough, is forever enough?"

I kiss his forehead, finger-combing through his curls with a gentle hand. As I lower my arm, the familiar bracelet glints in the light and slips down my wrist to rest on the swell of my hand, drooping like it always does when I move in such a way.

My eyes center on it, focusing more than usual. Most of the time, it doesn't catch my attention. It's a part of me, as everyday as my freckles or fingernail polish. But tonight - tonight, it sticks.

I leave Theo's room and walk to mine, opening the closet to find a box that usually stays hidden. It's an old shoebox, and I lift the lid after I blow the dust off, sitting on the end of my bed.

It's full of pictures from my past. Of my family, old friends, old lover. It's a personification of everything I used to be, everything I'll never be again, no matter how hard I wish, or how hard I try. I won't ever be that carefree, high school girl again. Even though I'm young, barely 20, I'm a fully-functional adult with a child to look after. A single mother.

It's silly to keep retracing my steps back to the girl whose mask I once wore. Now, I have nothing like that. My persona is stripped and bare, hardworking to the point of exhaustion, but full of love for that little boy.

I won't ever get my old life back. It's a stupid, whimsical thought.

But I dig through the pictures anyway. I don't know why I do it, I know it'll only hurt, but I don't stop myself. I don't even try.

I brush aside the ones of my family. They aren't the people I think about anymore, it was easy to let them go. I always held onto a romanticized image of them, anyway. Even if I did contact them, they'd never accept me back. They don't know where I am, and they don't want to. If they knew, they'd be ashamed. They'd disown me further, if possible.

No, the picture I seek out is Jackson's senior picture. When I find it, I can't help the smile that grows on my face. The corners are peeling and faded, though it isn't very old. The grin on his face is bright and it reaches his eyes. He was so happy that day.

We were at the park with a professional photographer his mother had paid for, but couldn't be there to supervise. She got pictures of Jackson leaning against countless trees, posing on bridges, leaning against old buildings. All very artsy. But my favorite image, the one I'm holding in my hands right now, is candid.

His eyes aren't on the lens, they're off to the side. Looking to where I was standing and making him laugh. I can't remember what I said now, but by the look on his face it must have been funny. He's standing in the middle of a field covered with lush green grass, wearing a deep red button-down shirt. His arms are halfway crossed like he'd broken the pose to crack up, and I wish I could bottle his happiness and keep it in a jar to unlock whenever I need it.

I've been needing it a lot lately.

I turn the photo over. Still there, in his horrible handwriting, it says: LOVE YOU, PEACHY.

He had kept the message short and sweet, thinking we'd have all the time in the world for longer sentiments. But it turns out, we didn't. I wonder, if he'd known I would leave, what he would have written instead.

I close the shoebox, depositing Jackson's senior picture gently back inside. I replace the box where I found it, deep inside my closet, and close the doors.

The bracelet's weight on my wrist is heavier than ever. I feel its cold metal brushing against my skin and know for a fact that forever isn't always true, isn't always real. Sometimes, life happens and people mess it up. Sometimes, you have unprotected sex and hide a pregnancy, then have a secret baby on the backseat of a Greyhound bus.

Life is just funny that way.

I don't know what Jackson is up to now, but I know it's nothing that involves me, or thoughts of me. And it shouldn't be. I abandoned him with a half-ass, vague explanation. Even though it was for the greater good, for selfless reasons, I still can't help but taste the sour flavor of guilt every time he crosses my mind.

And he crosses my mind a lot.

I sit down again near my nightstand, then turn my wrist so the inside faces out. The clasp of the forever bracelet hasn't been touched for years, not since Jackson put it on me. I still remember our promise to never take them off, when the concept of forever was still something realistic and tangible. I know now our forever doesn't exist.

Jackson probably took his off right after I left. I shouldn't hang onto him anymore. It isn't doing anyone any good.

So, I lock my fingers around the clasp and undo it. It's easier than I expected, coming open like nothing at all. When it sits in my hand, crumpled like a memory, it feels so insubstantial. It's a small scrap of metal, diminished from the lifelong promise it had once been.

I open my nightstand drawer and drop the bracelet in, closing it right after.

That chapter was finished long ago, but tonight it feels like the last page has been ripped out and burned.

UPTOWN, CHICAGO, PRESENT

This morning, I had woken up with Jackson's sweet words in my head and thought our forever was rectified. There was a newborn hope within me that maybe, I was right to have saved the bracelet all this time, resisted the urge to throw it away with all the irrational dreams I had for us to reunite.

It wasn't silly to keep it, after all. Before I got dressed, I told myself that I would wear it today. I would put it back on and reopen the book, starting right at the chapter where we'd left off. We could rebuild our world from the ground up.

But now, fighting tears as I storm into my room to turn the shower on and go about my day, I glance at the nightstand next to my bed. I shake my head, knowing very well that that drawer will stay closed.