Chapter 48
Kelly
The engine continues to run, the car’s heater struggling to warm the space against the frigid temperatures outside. I glance in the rearview mirror, once, twice. But there’s no reassurance to be found, not this time.
My fingers trace a pattern on the steering wheel—two taps, pause, then two more. It’s a rhythm I’ve repeated a thousand times, one that promises order, control, but right now, it barely holds the storm inside me at bay, and my hands stop moving and just grip the steering wheel instead.
I don’t even know if I’m breathing, but it doesn’t matter.
Jake’s face flashes in my mind, the pain in his eyes, the hurt that I put there. I press my lips together, swallowing down the guilt, the regret. My hand circles the steering wheel. Once. Twice. This is for the best. It has to be. He doesn’t need my chaos, my failure. I would only drag him down, make him regret ever loving me.
But the silence presses in, and I can’t escape the knowledge that I’ve lost something irreplaceable.
Behind me, Jake’s truck passes on the road leading back into town. It soon disappears from sight. He’s gone, and it’s the way it has to be. It’s for the best.
I wait a beat, then turn my car around, heading back to the site of the festival, not ready to go home to Nora. Not yet. I pull over in the shadow of the lighthouse, barely visible through the thickening snow, and sit there, watching the storm bury what’s left of my dream, my insides growing colder until it’s all I am.
The fight with Jake replays in my mind. I told him to leave, to go, to forget about me. Isn’t this what I wanted? To push him away before he could see the cracks, see how imperfect I am? To protect myself from the inevitable moment he’d realize I’m not worth it?
But as I sit here, alone, it doesn’t feel like any kind of victory. I should feel safe, walled off, impenetrable. Why does it seem as though I just ripped out a part of myself?
I chose this. This hollow silence, this empty space where his warmth used to be. Isn’t this what I wanted? But the silence is more punishment than a comfort, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
My mind races, snagging on every piece that’s fallen apart. The festival, shattered beyond repair. The promises I made to Mom, promises to be strong, to make her proud, to hold everything together even if it killed me. The things I’ve kept strict control over—food, plans, every tiny detail—they’re nothing now, as scattered and useless as the broken festival installations. None of it mattered. None of it changed a thing.
I’m never going to be perfect, never going to be enough, never going to be loved.
And it’s just like last time. I’m alone again.
Except this time it was me who ended it.
That day, all those years ago, comes back to me with crystal clarity. The summer sun had been blinding as I made my way to the lighthouse, squinting against the bright light that seemed to reflect off everything.
The warmth should’ve made me safe, happy. The world was steady and solid under my feet. But that day, everything felt off-kilter, wrong, and I couldn’t shake the sense that whatever Jake had to tell me wasn’t something I wanted to hear. He’d sounded so serious on the phone.
When I reached the lighthouse, Jake was already there, leaning against the whitewashed wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head hanging low. I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me, and that nervousness twisted into something colder, sharper.
I sat down beside him, back pressed to the coarse stone wall. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared out at the waves crashing against the rocks.
“Jake,” I finally said. “What’s going on?”
He let out a long breath, like he’d been holding it in for years, and then he looked at me, really looked at me, and I knew in that instant that whatever he was about to say would change everything .
“It’s Jenny,” he said, his voice rough. “That girl I was seeing when we broke up last time.”
My heart sank. I didn’t need him to say anything else, but he did anyway, the words dropping between us, dragging us down with them.
“She’s pregnant. Six months along. She just told me.”
My mind went blank, my thoughts scattering. Six months? I’d thought he was mine again, thought we were finally on the same page, that we had a chance.
“Oh, Jake,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away, his eyes fixed on the ground.
When he looked back up at me, his face was tight. He was holding himself together with fraying threads. “Kelly, it’s over. I need to do right by her, by the baby. This isn’t something you should be part of.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Jake, we love each other. We can figure this out, can’t we?”
“No.” His voice was firm, final. “I can’t do that to you, Kelly. I won’t. You have your whole life ahead of you, all these plans and dreams. I’m not going to drag you into this mess. It wouldn’t be fair.”
The tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I shook my head, trying to keep them at bay. “But I don’t care about any of that. We can figure it out together.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” he said, his voice hardening. “I have a responsibility now, a real one. And you don’t deserve to get caught up in this. Go to college, do everything you’ve ever wanted to do. Forget about me.”
“Jake, please, let’s talk about this. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I have to do this, Kelly. I have to be there for my kid. Go live your life.”
I stared at him, my heart shattering piece by piece, but it was useless. Jake had made up his mind, and there was nothing I could say to change it. The tears broke free, spilling down my cheeks as I pushed myself to my feet, my legs made of lead.
I turned and walked away, leaving him there beside the lighthouse, every step taking me further from the life we’d dreamed of together.
And now it’s finished between us all over again.
Snow falls thick and fast, blanketing everything in a relentless white. I sit in my car, staring out at the swirling chaos beyond the windshield, the world narrowing down to the cold silence and the low hum of the engine.
I breathe, holding for nine seconds, releasing for nine—over and over until the world slows down, the numbers in my head my only anchor in this storm. I don’t know how much time passes, but the car gets colder despite the heater, and I need to get home.
Putting the car into gear, the tires spin as I press the gas. I barely make it a few yards before the wheels skid and lurch, sinking into a snowbank with a final, unforgiving crunch.
I try to reverse, but the wheels only spin in place, digging me deeper into the icy trap. My heart pounds as I scan the seat beside me, the dash, everywhere for my phone—only to remember it’s gone, lost when I stumbled through the festival grounds.
Cold seeps through my coat, wrapping around me, and fear coils in my stomach.
I’m alone, the storm closing in, and I’ve only got myself to blame.