It's got my name on it,

And it's just waiting there for me.

'Chloe Beale'

Of course, she'd recognised the handwriting instantly. There was only her name written on it. No stamp, no address – it had been hand delivered. She'd been here. At some point during the few short hours while she'd been trying to sleep, Aubrey had been here, right outside their front door. The evidence, one crisp white envelope bearing Chloe's name in her distinctive handwriting, lay on the doormat, waiting. Waiting for Chloe to pick up it, to open it. Waiting to break her heart all over again.

She approached it slowly, cautiously, as though at any moment, it might jump out and attack her. Once bare feet reached the doormat, she bent down and gingerly reached out towards it. A chill, unrelated to the cold fall morning, ran through her body. She knew what this letter was.

This was not a declaration of love. This was not a plea to come back. Aubrey had stood mere metres away from where Chloe had laid, separated by only two doors. If she'd wanted to see the redhead again she could have knocked. She would have knocked. But she didn't. She hadn't. This wasn't a letter written from love but from shame. It would hold in it all the words that Aubrey couldn't say to Chloe's face that night, weeks ago, when she couldn't bring herself to even look at Chloe's face.

In the days since that night, Chloe had found herself caught between anger at Aubrey for walking out without a word of explanation and anger at herself for letting her go. She had barely eaten, barely slept, and now she was just tired. Tired of crying, tired of hurting, tired of trying to work out why. Aubrey had removed all possible forms of contact. Phone calls went straight through to voicemail. Emails went unreturned. She had no address to find the blonde at. She only knew that she was with her parents, which meant somewhere in Charlotte, North Carolina. She had been forced to realise that Aubrey did not want to hear from her again. So, she had begun to move on.

She'd told herself that it was probably for the best, in the long run anyway. Aubrey had not been good for her, so she would find someone who was. Someone who was not ashamed of her – ashamed of their relationship. Someone not afraid to kiss her or hold her hand in public. She would forget all about Aubrey and find someone better. She knew she had no choice, she had to let go. She knew this, but still she couldn't open the letter. Would it contain the answers that she so desperately craved? Probably. Would it also open her up to even more hurt and pain? Definitely. She couldn't even bring herself to pick it up, so it stayed there on the doormat. Untouched.

She would forget about Aubrey Posen. Eventually. Eventually she had to, right?

"How are you?" "How's everything going?" "How are you feeling?"

The same questions came in many forms from worried friends, family and co-workers. The answer was always the same though.

"Fine, thanks." Always accompanied by as convincing a smile as she could muster. Always a lie. She was not fine but how can you explain how you're feeling if you don't even know yourself? She didn't think that there were words that could accurately describe the twisted range of emotions she felt. All she knew was that she was paying the price for what Aubrey had done. Aubrey had been her world, her life, and when she walked out, with her suitcase packed full, she took Chloe's world with her too.

The concerned questions began to change into suggestions and offers to set up dates with various suitors. While she hadn't accepted any yet, she promised herself that she would do, eventually.

Eventually she'd had to move it. She knew it couldn't stay on her doormat forever so it made its way to the coffee table. It stayed there for days, serving as a constant reminder. Unopened.

She'd quickly lost count of the number of times she'd tried to open it. The first time, she'd only managed to keep it in her hands for a few seconds before breaking down and shoving it under the cushion of the sofa. With each subsequent attempt, she managed to hold onto it a little longer but each attempt ended with her in tears and the letter in a new hiding place.

True to the promise she had made herself, she did eventually take up the offer of a date. It was nothing special but this was her moving on and as time passed, her attempts at the letter became less frequent. After every bad date she would try though, hoping that if she could just get some closure then she'd be able to completely let go, and then maybe the next date would be better.

Whenever she was missing Aubrey particularly deeply she would try again, hoping that the words would bring her some sort of comfort. Sometimes just holding it, imagining her words, was comforting, in a heartbreaking kind of way. Birthdays, holidays and anniversaries of special moments that they had shared together all came with an unsuccessful attempt. New Year's Eves passed and with each stroke of midnight she broke and re-made the same resolution: This year I'll open it.

The letter with just two words written on the front stayed with her through a number of new homes, in each of which it had a different hiding place. Still sealed. Never forgotten. Always waiting.