I always wondered how many broken hearts one person could withstand–broken hearts from unexpected tragedy or broken hearts delivered by the ones who were supposed to love a person the most. I had just experienced my first, and I knew I never wanted to feel this way again.

Fitz had crushed me. I’d allowed myself to love him so freely and so openly. I fell for the good I saw inside him. I should have seen it the moment he sidled up next to me that first day at Camp Riley, all arrogance and chaos. My instincts had been right, but not necessarily about him, per se. I was only right thinking he’d be nothing but a broken heart.

Now all I felt was a hollow emptiness.

I was still grappling to understand everything. I didn’t know how, in just a few short months, I could come to feel like this. Every time I closed my eyes, Fitz was there. In the silence, I heard his voice. In the darkness, I saw his face. There was no escaping it. Images flickered from the affectionate and protective person I fell in love with to the hurtful and spiteful creature he turned in to. I remembered all the arrogance and swagger he presented on day one. That side of him seemed to vanish after that first initial day, yet reappeared with a vengeance as we stood next to the bathhouse. Only this time, there was calculated cruelty in his eyes. A part of me wondered if that was the true version of him all along, that I had simply been seeing things with my eyes wide shut.

Unable to stomach the idea of running into him today, I left the cottage I shared with my parents just as the sun began to peek over the horizon and had been at the lake ever since. I was certain my parents were probably wrought with concern over finding me gone that morning. For the first time ever, I would miss the final performance. But at least I thought to leave them a note, even if it was a lie. I told them I still had homework to finish, and I needed someplace quiet to complete it. I said I would be at the lake, but I’d be back in time to see the guests off.

It was so unlike me, but I didn’t particularly care. In fact, I didn’t really care about much of anything at that moment. I only cared about being alone and away from the crowds of people who were set to arrive that morning. Now, as the sun rose higher in the sky, I was reminded of the day I first realized I loved Fitz.

I picked up my sketchpad and flipped through the pages until I found the drawing I had started of Fitz. It wasn’t complete, but that was okay. My plan today was to finish it, forever capturing the moment in time when I discovered I was in love.

As I hunched over the pad and moved the pencil over the page, a tranquil feeling settled around me. The calmness allowed me time to reflect on my own actions over the summer. Yes, Fitz had made mistakes. He lied by omitting the truth, but I also made mistakes of my own. He had obligations and a reality that was outside of his control. He was scheduled to marry another woman. I didn’t know this when I gave him my heart, but I did know it when I gave him my body. I ignored all the signs, choosing to stay ignorant to the inevitable end.

A small part of me had clung to the idea he’d somehow choose me over his fate. Or even that he’d agree to see me on the side, separate from his convoluted marriage. I knew it was a foolish notion, but still, if it meant I got to keep him, so be it. I was never the sort of person to settle for second best, yet what I had proposed to Fitz was equivalent to that.

I realized now that was my mistake. He was faced with a future I couldn’t even begin to fathom. I promised him no regrets, yet I hadn’t followed through with that promise. His words to me yesterday, while hurtful and unkind, were empty. I knew he didn’t mean them, and I was the one to push him to that point. That’s why I slapped him. That’s why I ran away. I wasn’t truly angry at him but more at myself for hanging onto that misguided measure of hope.

The sun lowered further in the sky. The final performance was most likely over, but I had no intention of heading back into camp to see the students off. I may have told my parents I would, but I knew I wasn’t really needed there now. Staff members would be saying their final farewells. Students would be making plans for dinner in town with their family members. My parents would be heading back to the cottage to recap the summer and start discussing plans for next year. We would stay at the camp for another week, so packing for us wouldn’t start for another few days.

Then there was Fitz. I knew from the camp schedule a car was due to arrive for Devon and him at eight. They were probably packing at this very moment. They’d make the walk up Watercolor Way to the main entrance of the camp. Then they’d be off–Devon to wherever his life would take him, and Fitz to meet his bride at the altar.

No, there was no need for me to hurry back to the camp. I didn’t need to see Fitz. I didn’t need one final reminder of what would be forever lost. At that moment, as I stared down at the pencil lines and shading that shaped the man I loved, I had no regrets, and I wanted to keep it that way.