Chapter 1: The Day He Let Go

Eli Sutton and I grew up side by side in a sleepy Ohio town—childhood sweethearts, all tangled up in our messy, patched-together families. My mom remarried when I was little; his dad did too.

It was the kind of place where everyone knew your name and the sound of your mom’s laugh. Our families were a patchwork quilt—stitched together from old heartbreak and new beginnings. Sunday dinners, step-siblings arguing over the last slice of pizza—you know, the whole nine yards. Eli and I fit together like two puzzle pieces tossed in the same box—never quite perfect, but always close enough to make sense.

We hung onto each other as we grew up. Maybe we had to. He used to say he had a restless soul, so I followed wherever he wandered.

He’d drag me out to the old train tracks after midnight, or to the riverbank in the dead of winter, saying, “I just gotta feel the world move, you know?” I’d shiver next to him, pretending I wasn’t cold—because of course I’d follow him anywhere. Always. We made promises on the hood of his busted-up Chevy, watching satellites cross the sky. Maybe I was always chasing him, trying to catch up to that wild streak he never could shake.

I thought we’d be forever.

We carved our initials into the big oak by the football field, swore we’d leave this town together one day. I kept every note he ever passed me in class, tucked in a shoebox under my bed, convinced our story was the kind that’d last. I really believed it.

Until the day I walked into that dingy one-bedroom above a pawn shop, and saw Eli, shirtless, bending down to pick up another woman’s bra off the faded carpet.

The air was thick with the smell of cheap cologne and something sour, and my heart just—stopped. The TV was still on—some rerun of Friends—laugh track echoing in the background. I remember thinking, This can’t be real. Not us. Not like this.

I asked him why. He didn’t answer—just told the girl to get dressed and go.

She shot me a glance, half-apology, half-smirk, and disappeared into the bathroom. Eli wouldn’t meet my eyes. The silence between us was louder than any argument we’d ever had.

After a long silence, he finally said he wanted freedom.

He wouldn’t look at me. Just kept fiddling with his keys, jaw clenched tight. Typical. I waited for him to say something that would make it hurt less, but all I got was that one word: freedom. It sounded so final, like a door slamming shut.

And that I was the thing he needed to be free from most.

Those words knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t cry, not then. I just stood there, hands shaking, and realized I’d been holding on to someone who’d already let go.

The day he left, I handed him a kite.

It was this dinky little thing we’d won at the county fair—red and blue, with a tail made from shoelaces. I pressed it into his hand at the door, my voice barely steady. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

He took it without a word, eyes flickering with something I couldn’t name. Then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the stairwell. The apartment felt too big, too empty, all at once.

I’ve played it out in my head a thousand times—how it’d be if I ever saw Eli again. A thousand times. Maybe more.

Sometimes I’d imagine running into him at the grocery store, both of us reaching for the same box of cereal. Or maybe at a high school reunion, pretending we’d both moved on. I rehearsed the lines I’d say, the way I’d look—always strong, always unbothered. But real life never plays out like the movies.

But I never pictured it like this. Not in a million years.

His number flashed on my phone, but it was the hospital calling. He’d been in a car wreck, and could I come down?

My heart dropped into my stomach. The nurse on the line sounded tired, like she’d made too many calls that morning. She said my number was listed as his emergency contact—something I’d forgotten, or maybe just never changed. I grabbed my keys, hands shaking, and ran out the door.

That’s when I realized Eli had drifted back into town without a word. Of course he had.

I hadn’t heard a peep—no texts, no calls, nothing. It was just like him to slip back in without so much as a ripple. Our old town rumor mill hadn’t even caught wind yet.

In the heart of the city, even at sunrise, the traffic was a mess. I sped to the hospital, got his room number, and hurried down the hall.

My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Nerves buzzing. The hospital parking lot was already packed, nurses and orderlies darting between cars. I half-jogged through the automatic doors, the smell of antiseptic hitting me hard. At the front desk, I fumbled Eli’s name, and the receptionist gave me a look—equal parts sympathy and suspicion—before scribbling the room number on a sticky note.

The private room was small. There was a woman by the bed—killer figure, back to me, voice syrupy-sweet. “Eli, I was the first one here. Aren’t I the best?”

She was dressed like she’d stepped out of a magazine—perfect hair, perfect nails. Her laugh was all sugar, but her eyes flicked toward the door, sizing me up. I felt like an intruder in a scene I had no business watching.

“Yeah, you’re the best.”

That voice—so familiar. I froze, blinked, and slowly let my hand fall from the door.

The sound of his voice hit me in the chest. It was older, rougher, but still Eli. For a second, I was sixteen again, sitting on his porch swing, listening to him promise me the world.

Eli and I hadn’t spoken in years. When we split, it nearly broke me. I thought it might kill me. But time dulls the sharpest pain. Now, when I think of him, my heart barely stirs.

I’d built up walls, told myself I was over it. I could say his name without flinching, scroll past old photos without a second thought. Or so I believed.

But hearing his voice again, I realized maybe I’d just forced myself to bury all that feeling.

It was like a bruise pressed too hard—pain you thought was gone until someone poked it. I stood in that hallway, heartbeat racing, and realized I’d never really let him go. Not all the way.

I didn’t dare go in. Instead, I found a nurse, got his patient number, and paid his hospital bill.

My hands shook as I signed the paperwork. The nurse gave me a look—maybe pity, maybe curiosity—but she didn’t ask questions. I just handed over my card and waited for the receipt, staring at the linoleum tiles so I wouldn’t have to think.

Afterward, I sat in my car by the curb and smoked for what felt like hours. I needed something to do with my hands.

The dashboard clock blinked 7:30 a.m. I cracked the window, letting the early morning chill seep in. The first drag burned my throat, but I needed something to hold onto. The hospital loomed behind me, all glass and steel, but I felt like I was a million miles away.

Growing up, I was always the honor roll kid, the good girl. Smoking was the only bad habit I picked up from Eli, and I didn’t even start until after he left.

My mom would’ve lost her mind if she’d seen me now—her golden child, sneaking cigarettes behind the wheel. But sometimes you need something to dull the ache. Eli had always said cigarettes were for people who couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking. I guess I finally understood.

Work’s been grinding me down lately, and the cravings only get worse. Some days, it’s all I can do not to light up before noon.

Half a pack later, my head was still a mess. I choked on the last drag and coughed until my eyes watered.

The smoke stung, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, cursing under my breath. The world felt heavy, like I was carrying too much on shoulders that weren’t built for it.

Pathetic.