Chapter 10: Goodbyes in the Dark

After evening study hall, the homeroom teacher called me to the office.

Mr. Thompson’s office smelled like burnt coffee and stacks of old paperwork. He gestured for me to sit, his eyes kind behind wire-framed glasses.

"Your transfer paperwork is complete. Your flight is tomorrow, right? The day after tomorrow is Sunday, so you can rest, and the day after that go straight to class. You won't miss anything."

He handed me a stack of forms, his smile encouraging. I nodded, grateful for his quiet support.

I nodded, bidding farewell for the last time to this teacher who, though always focused on academics, would still occasionally show a bit of kindness.

I shook his hand, promising to keep in touch. For the first time, leaving felt real.

On the way home, I looked out the window at the scenery flying by.

The lights of town blurred past—gas stations, faded billboards, the water tower looming against the dusk. I pressed my forehead to the glass, trying to memorize every detail.

After so many days of calm, I finally felt a little down.

The sadness crept in slowly, like fog rolling in off the river. I tried to ignore it, but it settled heavy on my shoulders.

When I got home, Ethan didn't try to talk to me like before. He seemed distracted, too.

He sat at the kitchen table, phone in hand, barely touching his dinner. We existed in parallel worlds, orbiting each other but never meeting.

At dinner, my deskmate sent me a screenshot. It was Rachel's latest post on Instagram.

The notification pinged, pulling me out of my thoughts. My stomach dropped as I read her post.

[If I have to spend my birthday alone again this year, I won't celebrate next year.]

Her words were heavy with sadness, the kind that comes from real loneliness. I wondered if anyone would reach out to her—or if she even wanted them to.

The attached photo was of her sitting on a bridge, her legs dangling over the deep river below.

The image was haunting—Rachel, small against the endless water, her shoes kicked off to the side. The river looked cold, the night sky even colder.

Deskmate: [What does she mean? Is she going to do something stupid?]

Sierra’s message was blunt, her concern genuine for once. I felt a jolt of fear, hoping Rachel was just being dramatic.

Almost at the same time, Ethan's fork fell from his hand across the table. His hand gripping his phone was tense, veins showing. His voice was hoarse, as if he was suppressing a tremor.

The sound of his fork hitting the plate echoed in the quiet room. He stared at his phone, knuckles white. When he spoke, his voice shook.

"I have something to do. I'll go out first. You eat."

He stood up so quickly his chair scraped against the tile. I nodded, unsure what else to do.

I nodded, picking up a single pea. "Okay."

The green orb rolled around my plate, untouched. I watched him pull on his jacket and head for the door.

Ethan hurriedly got up and put on his coat. But he suddenly stopped at the doorway.

He paused, hand hovering over the doorknob, as if he’d forgotten something important.

His hand was on the doorknob. "Maddie."

He turned to me, his eyes dark and stormy beneath the glow of the kitchen lights.

I turned to look at him, puzzled, and answered.

I tried to keep my voice steady, heart pounding.

The ceiling light shone down, making the emotion in Ethan's dark eyes seem even deeper.

For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of us. He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time in years.

"I've thought it through. Getting engaged after graduation isn't a bad idea. When I come back, let's have our parents settle it, all right?"

His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. It was the closest he’d come to an apology.

Rachel's home was in the suburbs, over sixty miles away. Before I left, he wouldn't make it back in time.

I realized, with a pang, that whatever happened next, it wouldn’t involve me. I was already halfway gone.

I blinked, and softly said, "Okay."

I forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing. Maybe, just this once, agreeing would set us both free.

Ethan seemed relieved, closed the door, and left.

He lingered a moment longer, then slipped into the night, leaving the house colder than before.

I quietly finished eating, went back to my room, and packed my suitcase.

Each shirt folded felt like a goodbye. I moved methodically, trying not to think about what I was leaving behind.

At 10:50 p.m., I set my alarm for 5 a.m. the next day, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.

Tomorrow, I’d be gone. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure anyone would try to stop me.