The bartender put a glass of whiskey on a napkin in front of me. I nodded my thanks, and he left to see to his other customers.

It wasn’t busy. Enough people that a low hum of conversation hovered in the background. Not so many that it was crowded. Music played, but I didn’t recognize most of the songs. The lights were low, the bartender never smiled, and the guy sitting two barstools down kept falling asleep, his scruffy chin resting on his chest.

I took a sip of my water, leaving the whiskey to sit on its napkin. I had my notebook open, my pen in hand. I hadn’t written a word since I’d left Sebastian. But my thoughts were eating at me from the inside, and I hoped I could get them out on paper. Maybe quiet them down.

It had been my therapist’s idea. Almost on a whim, I’d called her this morning. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her. She hadn’t had time in her schedule for a full appointment, but she’d fit me in for fifteen minutes in the afternoon.

It had taken so much effort to make myself go. In the time between making the call and going to her office, I’d invented at least a dozen excuses to cancel. But in the end, I’d gone. She’d asked me a few questions, and then suggested I try her writing exercise.

Just write, she’d said. Not with form or intent. I wasn’t supposed to worry about sentences or punctuation or even making sense. Just write whatever came to mind—whatever thoughts and feelings were in my mind.

I began, and my pen moved across the paper, leaving a trail of blue ink. I kept my eyes moving forward—didn’t allow myself to read what I’d written. I just needed an outlet. A place to put all these feelings. I filled the page, so I turned to a new one and kept writing. Glanced up at the whiskey. Still didn’t take a drink.

I wrote more. Filled pages and pages. My hand cramped and once in a while I had to pause to stretch my fingers. But still the words tumbled from my mind, through my pen, and onto the paper.

Eventually, I stopped. The swirl of madness in my head wasn’t spinning so fast, the whirlpool of thoughts was slowing. Calmness crept over me. My muscles relaxed and the tension in my shoulders eased. I put my pen down and flexed my fingers, opening and closing my hand a few times.

Then, with a tingling sense of trepidation in my stomach, I looked back on what I’d written.

At first, it was random. Single words, some phrases. Things like hollow, tears, and I’m lonely. By the top of the third page, my ramblings took on more form. Lines and sentences. Complete thoughts. Questions.

Is there a door on the other side of the darkness, and if there is, will I be able to find it?

How does the cycle end?

Am I strong enough for this?

And there, among the words I’d written, his name. Sebastian.

He was always on my mind. I missed him desperately. The warmth of his strong body. His big hand holding mine. The way his beard scratched my neck or my cheek… or my thighs. The way he kissed me, so fierce and passionate. Just thinking about him brought tears to my eyes and made the hollow space in my chest ache.

I closed my notebook and tucked it away in my bag. Tossed some money on the bar—more than necessary, even with a tip—and walked out the front door.

I left the whiskey sitting, untouched.

My house was dark and cold. I turned up the heat and flicked on a few lights. Shivering a little, I went to my bedroom and found a thicker pair of socks and a long knit sweater. As I put them on, the half-open closet caught my eye.

I took out my backpack—the one I’d carried around in Phoenix. The box holding Liam’s engagement ring was still tucked inside. I opened it and ran my finger over the smooth gold band. Then I put it aside, and pulled out the dance photo.

How you doing, Bee?

“I don’t know,” I said, touching his face in the photo. “Not so well, I guess.”

I gazed at the picture for a minute. But Liam couldn’t help me. He wasn’t here to save me anymore. With a deep breath, I put it all away.

My mom’s box was still in my closet, unopened. I’d been too afraid to look. I had no idea what a woman like her would have kept. Was there anything meaningful in there? Or would it be another disappointment? A box full of junk I’d have to throw away.

I put it on the bed and sat in front of it, cross-legged. My heart fluttered as I lifted the lid and set it aside.

It was full to the top. I found papers, some in envelopes. Most of them looked old—faded and yellowing. A copy of an old lease for an apartment in Albuquerque. Two bus tickets from Fort Worth to Tulsa. An envelope, shaped like it had once held a greeting card, with a handful of pictures—all of people I didn’t recognize. None of it meant anything—at least not to me—so I dug deeper to see what else was in there.

My hand touched something soft. It was a strange contrast to the smooth feel of paper around it. I grabbed it and pulled it out of the box.

It was the pink teddy bear my mom had won for me at the fair.

I stared at the tattered stuffed animal. Its fur was unevenly worn, one foot so threadbare the stuffing showed through. It had lost an eye and I’d tried to fix it by drawing one in sharpie, but it was crooked compared to the original. The piece of thread that had been its mouth was loose, and its once-bright pink color had faded considerably.

Of all the toys I’d ever owned—there hadn’t been many—this one had been my favorite. It had meant the most. I’d slept with it every night. Set it carefully on my pillow each morning. I’d sat in my room and held it, telling it stories. Whispering prayers and wishes. Cried with it clutched tightly in my arms.

By the time it had gone missing, I’d outgrown it. But I’d still been sad to realize it had gone. I hadn’t been sleeping with it anymore, but it had still meant something to me. It had been a memory of a good day with her. A day that had stood out in its goodness because there had been so few.

A tear broke free from the corner of my eye and slid down my cheek. She’d kept it. I didn’t know when she’d taken it and added it to her box, but at some point, she’d decided to save it. Had she done it for herself? Had she remembered that day like I had?

Maybe it had represented the same thing for her that it had for me. A memory of something good between us. A dream of what could have been, if things had been different.

One thing I knew without a shred of doubt. It meant she’d loved me.

I touched its face, biting my lip to keep from crying too hard. Although I wished I’d had the chance to see her again, in some ways this was better. It whispered the words I’d needed to hear so badly, said them directly into my heart: I love you, Brooke.

With a trembling breath, I sniffed hard. Instead of putting it back in the box, I put it in my backpack, along with my dance picture and engagement ring. It felt like it belonged there, with the other moments that had shaped me. The good ones. The memories where love had won.

I wiped my cheeks and went into the bathroom to blow my nose. As I was tossing the tissue into the garbage, I heard a knock at my door.

It didn’t sound like Sebastian’s big fist. His knock was louder. I walked out and opened the door, my tummy full of nerves. It was Olivia.

“Hi,” she said.

I was so surprised to see her, I didn’t know what to say.

“Look, if you don’t want to see me, I get it,” she said. “But um, could you let me know one way or the other so I can either come in or get back in my car? It’s freezing out here.”

“Come in.”

“This Iowa winter shit sucks,” she said, rubbing her hands together as I shut the door behind her. She wore a thick coat and a knit hat with a little crocheted flower on one side. “So, I came over because I think I was actually the bigger asshole. Can we talk, maybe?”

“Sure,” I said.

We sat down at the little table Sebastian and I had repainted. That seemed so long ago.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” she said. “What happened to Liam wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean that, and I never should have said it. I admitted it to Charlie, and he kind of ripped me a new one. He’s still pissed at you for slapping me, but he did tell me I was a huge jerk for saying something so awful to you.”

I nodded, but the guilt I felt was overwhelming. “It doesn’t matter what you said. I never should have hit you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I deserved it, at least a little bit.”

“That’s what my mom would have done,” I said, my eyes on the table. “She hit me when she was angry.”

Olivia put a hand over mine. “I know. Actually, when you did that, it made me realize what that must have been like for you. A little bit, anyway. I hadn’t thought about it very much before. I kept thinking about how angry I’d been because my parents were so concerned about you all the time. But, I think it was because you needed it so much more than I did. I had this great childhood with nice parents who were still married. The worst thing that ever happened to me was when some kid pushed me off a swing when I was nine, and I broke my arm. And it wasn’t even all that bad. Mostly I remember getting ice cream after they put on the cast.”

I breathed out a soft laugh and she squeezed my hand.

“But you… you lived through things I can’t even fathom,” she said. “And you were always so alone.”

“Yeah.”

“Charlie made me realize something else,” she said. “I was lying in bed with him and it was one of those moments that’s so good it takes your breath away. Do you know what I mean?”

I nodded.

“It wasn’t sexual,” she said. “It was pure contentment. In that moment, I was so happy and so in love, I wanted to cry. And I was thinking about how lucky I am that we met. And how amazing it was that we love each other so much. There’s nothing lopsided or off balance. You don’t find that every day, and when you do, you don’t want to lose it. In fact, you’ll do anything to keep it.”

She paused and met my eyes. Took a deep breath before she continued.

“That’s when it hit me,” she said. “If I lost Charlie, I don’t know if I’d be able to live through it.”

I took a shaky breath and nodded. I wasn’t quite ready to speak.

“You did live through that.” Tears filled her eyes. “You loved him like that, and you had to watch him die. And then you had to try to go on living without him.”

I nodded again. It was all I could do.

“God, Brooke,” she said. “I get it now. You’re not weak. You’re strong as fuck to keep breathing after that. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Not very well,” I said. “Obviously. I’m a fucking disaster.”

She laughed. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn mess. But honestly? You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

I wished I could believe her.

We both took deep breaths and wiped our eyes.

“Do you think we can survive this?” she asked. “Because I love you and I really don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

We stood and wrapped each other in a tight hug. It made us cry all over again, so we held on, letting the tears come.

“I know I’m an asshole,” Olivia said through her tears. “I’m trying to work on that, though. I’m trying not to lose my temper so much that I’m a horrible person to the people I love.”

“I love you too,” I said, and sniffed hard. “And believe me, I’m an expert on being horrible to the people I love.”

She pulled away and brushed the hair out of my face. “What do you think you’re going to do now? Go back to work, maybe? Joe wants you to come back.”

“Why would he want me back?” I asked. “I’m the worst employee ever.”

“Not the worst,” she said. “You should go talk to him. I can go with you, if you want.”

I sat back down and Olivia followed. “I’m not sure what I should do. Being here is so painful. I keep thinking about going somewhere else. Starting over again. But I don’t know where. And nothing about me would be different. I’d still be a mess. But I wouldn’t have to walk around through memories all the time.”

“I hope you don’t leave,” she said. “God, life is fucking hard.”

“It really is,” I said. “I don’t know. I feel so lost.”

“I wish I could help you find what you’re looking for,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “But I don’t think anyone can.”