I’M NUMB AT FIRST. I can’t move. I don’t cry. I just sit there, in the back of the little café, and stare at the wall. I’m still shell-shocked. I never expected him to react this way. I didn’t think he had it in him. He’s such a gentle soul. I never saw this coming.

I slowly stand, and leave the café. The barista shoots me a pity look, and there’s curiosity in her expression. I wonder if she heard our fight.

I wander aimlessly around the island, not sure where to go. The sights and people are a blur. All I can think about is Eli. I can’t believe we’re never going to speak to each other again.

The world works in such cruel ways.

I sit on a bench, my blue shopping bag on my lap. I pull out the vintage purse and the pins from the bag, and study them. This beautiful purse will remind me of this day forever. I decide to donate it to our local thrift store. I tuck everything back in the bag again.

A man sits down next to me. He has a salt and pepper beard but looks pretty young, and he’s very fashionable. A petite blonde smiles at him as she inches closer. A little boy with big blue eyes holds her hand. “Come and sit on daddy,” she urges. “There’s not enough room on this bench for all of us.”

The man kisses the boy’s forehead. They look happy, all of them. She gazes into her husband’s eyes and he just seems to light her up. I’m not sure I’ve ever had that with John, and not sure I ever will. But I know I love my children as much as this woman loves her son.

The sun is setting when I can finally manage a coherent thought and think straight enough to get myself back to Eli’s. There are hundreds of faces around me but I don’t see them. I’m surrounded by noise, but I don’t hear anything.

When I get back to his place, I drop my purse and shopping bag and let myself crumple to the floor. I lie on the floor and let the tears flow. I can still smell this morning’s breakfast, Floyd’s scent, and even Eli’s. It’s so cold here now — walls with colorful pictures, perfect furniture; a flawless space. It is not a home. It is certainly not mine. I feel like an intruder. Not so long ago, I felt like I belonged here.

I trudge to the washroom to empty my bursting bladder. I wash up and let the warm water run over my hands, and study my reflection in the vanity mirror. My face is splotchy and my mascara is running. My eyes are red with pain. I look like hell. He’s called me beautiful so many times. I’m not beautiful.

I’m ugly.

Inside and out. And I don’t deserve him.

My adventure is over. There’s nothing left to do but pack up my things. I’d wanted to go see Amalienborg — I’d heard it was stunning; tapestries and sculptures, gilded walls and ceilings, and marble floors. Eli and I had planned to go together. But I know that’s clearly not happening now.

I peel my suitcase open, and dig into the chest of drawers. I meticulously fold and tuck each piece of clothing, and arrange my belongings perfectly. When I’m stressed or upset, I sometimes like to organize. It occupies and soothes my mind. My hand stills when I reach for the elephant painting — it’s so beautiful. I wrap it carefully in two sweaters and tuck it in between my clothing. I also put the Little Mermaid statue and the paperweight in my travel bag. I don’t want them to be broken or lost in baggage — they’re too precious.

I check my phone, and my heart sinks when my worst fear is confirmed. He’s no longer on my Facebook friends list. Our long conversations have disappeared — all of it, messages, photos, everything. My chest caves in. I feel sick. I tap feverishly, only to find out that he’s unfollowed me on Instagram as well. And I’m sure that he’s blocked me on Gmail too.

My chest aches, and my throat burns. I wonder if this feeling will ever go away. The pain is even worse than it was when I realized John had been unfaithful to me. How can that be?

I know why this hurts so much. Because this time, I’m the one who hurt someone else, who betrayed someone who loved me and trusted me.

The tears come in bursts. I cry. I breathe. I cry. I breathe. And soon enough, all my stuff is packed and ready to go. All my essentials for the flight tomorrow are in my oversized bag. My clothes hang on the arm of a chair by the dresser, and my jacket and boots are by the front door. I haven’t eaten anything since the ginger cookie, and although my stomach is begging, I can’t imagine eating a single crumb.

I sit in the kitchen and nurse a cup of tea. I’m wearing the Doors t-shirt and some black cotton undies. I send a quick text to the kids, telling them that I’m excited to see them again soon. I know I’ll need to put on a brave face for them. Will they be able to see the pain in my eyes? Will they wonder why Mommy is sad?

I can’t imagine never ever speaking to Eli again. It breaks me. How can we share so much, and then never speak again? We can’t end something this amazing like this… with such anger and contempt. Does he hate me? Does he want me to fight for him? If the roles were reversed, I’d want him to fight for me. I can’t leave him like this, thinking that I don’t love him.

I just can’t.

I jump to my feet and dash to Eli’s room. My heart is pounding out of my chest as I dig in my suitcase for my fuzzy zebra lounge pants. I put them on quickly, grab my purse, and slip into my jacket and boots.

And I run.

I run, and run. Thankfully, I remember exactly how to get to his studio. Darkness disorients me a little, but I let my instincts lead the way. I slow to a jog when I finally get there, breathless.

My hand is shaking when I press on the electronic doorbell. I wait impatiently. No answer. I press it again. Still no answer. I try to peek in the window, but all I see is darkness. I hear the faint sound of barking. I do it again, and again. I’m not giving up. I know he’s in there, and I can do this all night. He’ll either answer, or he won’t get a wink of sleep tonight.

Finally, he opens the door. His eyes are so easy to read — he’s an open book. He’s still peeved, but there’s a trace of happiness in there. I know it — he wants me to fight for us.

“I can’t leave without saying goodbye, Eli.”

He stands still and looms large over me. He’s still so angry.

I hug myself. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

Without a word, he moves to the side, and lets me in. He closes the door quietly behind us. Floyd jumps up on me, happy to see me. My eyes are brimming with emotion. “I’m going to miss you, buddy.”

“Down, Floyd,” Eli scoffs, apparently in no mood for emotional reunions.

He brings him to his little cozy spot in the corner of the studio. He tells him to stay, and Floyd obeys — such a sweet dog.

My breath quickens as I watch him head back in my direction. He stops a few feet from me. He’s more beautiful than ever, but I can tell he’s been crying. His eyes are red and tired and his hair is a mess, and all I want to do is kiss him.

The thought of never kissing him again breaks me. I can’t bear it. “I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.

He pulls his gaze from mine. “You hurt me, Gabriella.”

“I know,” I tell him. “I was horrible to you. I didn’t think this through. I didn’t think about you. I was selfish.”

“What was I?” he asks. “A distraction? Was I just there to help you forget about him? To help you forget about her?”

“No,” I reply. It’s a small word… it barely means anything. I want to say so much more, but my heart pounds so hard, my heart hurts so much, I can barely think straight. I can’t seem to think at all. I need him to know how I feel, but how can I make him really understand what he means to me.

“You were not just a distraction,” I tell him. “You were everything.”

He lifts his eyes to mine, and I want to reach for him, but I know I’ll just scare him off, anger him further. “From the first moment I met you, I fell for you, Eli. I’ve wanted you so badly ever since. You’re all I think about, all I can see when I close my eyes at night.”

I inch closer, tentatively. His eyes pull me in. “It was never about them. It was always about us.”

He reaches for my hand and wraps his long fingers around mine. I close my eyes. “Can I tell you a secret?”

His eyes are locked on mine. He nods quietly.

“I wanted you so badly, it hurt,” I tell him. “When I ended things with us, I was a wreck. The realization that we would never meet, never touch, never taste each other… it hurt so much. I was devastated when I realized that John was unfaithful, but a small part of me was excited… excited for us. This was our chance to finally be together.”

He pulls me into his arms, and I bury myself in his chest and inhale him. “I’d do it again,” I confess. “This week was the most amazing time of my life. If it was the only way to be in your arms like this, I’d do it again. A million times.”

“I can’t imagine what it will be like to never have the chance to touch you again,” he says. His words burn a slow flame. I desperately want to be with him one last time.

I lift my gaze and venture a look up at him. “I didn’t want to end things badly… we deserve more than that.”

His lips curve, just a hint of a smile. “You look like hell, by the way.”

“You look beautiful,” I say.

He cups my face in his hands, and draws my mouth to his. I melt into him. I disappear. He pushes his heavy weight into me and presses me against the wall. He tears my jacket off swiftly, and pulls down my zebra pants in one swift move. He’s not quite himself, but I love it.

A part of him hates me. And a part of him loves me.