Fiona had been my first official girlfriend. We’d gone to the same intermediate school, though I’d probably only shared a few words with her in those years; I’d shared more classes with Alexis and become friends with her first. It wasn’t until a party at the end of eighth grade, that I’d first connected with Fiona; Alexis officially introduced us, and we hit it off.

I’d had a crush on Alexis, but clearly, she wasn’t interested in me; that might have explained why she attempted to play matchmaker for Fiona and me. But although Fiona was cute, I hadn’t been willing to give up on Alexis, figuring if I was around long enough, I was bound to get my chance. So, by the summer between eighth and ninth grade, I’d become a close friend to both of them. Candace had always been somewhere in the mix as well, but I wouldn’t say we were ever really friends.

But then at the end of that summer, I was hit with a terrible blow; due to unfairly increased rent, my family was forced to move, and we relocated just far enough that I’d be going to a different high school where I wouldn’t know a soul. Ninth grade really sucked and I relied heavily on my relationships with Alexis and Fiona, as well as my best friend, Harrison. I eventually made some new friends, but they didn’t come easily like in my previous schools. I never understood why; just bad luck, I guessed.

By the end of ninth grade, I was hanging out with Fiona more than I was with Alexis, which was probably intentional on Alexis’s part, now that I was reflecting on it. But whatever the underlying reason, Fiona and I were becoming inseparable—though still only friends. By this time, I was curious to pursue more with Fiona, but Alexis’s denial past the just-friends barrier had made me leery, so I didn’t feel confident to actively pursue Fiona either now; the fear of rejection a second time was simply too great.

Once Fiona opened up to me about her search for her father, I was eager to help, thinking this was what could help get me to the next level and finally progress our relationship. After a while, though, it seemed to be doing the exact opposite, permanently cementing us in the ‘friend zone’.

I took the letters from her and mailed them out. Once I started driving, I took her to the houses she wanted to visit. And, most importantly, it was my own shoulder she cried on when her efforts continued to go unrewarded. But sadly, it seemed my own efforts were also no more rewarded than hers.

A perfect storm of returns and rejections ensued, a seemingly never-ending torment of ups and downs, before—in a particularly emotional moment—she told me how important I was to her, then sealed those feelings with a kiss. And it was not a friendly peck on the cheek, either, but a true, honest, exhilarating kiss on the lips. From that day on, we were together. We didn’t even have to define our relationship—it just was—and I was more than happy with that. At some point, however, she introduced me as her boyfriend, only then telling me what I’d already known in my heart—that we were official!

I still wanted to help her as much as I could, seeing how haunted she was by the mystery of who her father was and why he’d abandoned the family. But after months and months of the same routines, I felt like my supporting her was in essence enabling her. I tried to discuss other ways of moving on, suggested talking to someone, putting that extreme focus and dedication into something else. But Fiona wouldn’t hear of it—wouldn’t even hear me out. Whenever it came to anything critical of her father or her search for him, she completely shut down.

As a result, I didn’t understand how hard it was to move on until I had lost her. I didn’t go to school with her, so it wasn’t like I was running into her every day. However, I still couldn’t shake her from my head. Each time I did see her, I yearned for her even more. When I received a new Return to Sender letter, it brought all those feelings back and I hated myself for not being the one protecting her any longer. I’d taken away her primary grief outlet, since I knew she didn’t talk about her estranged father much to her other friends. It was something special and meaningful that we shared, and I’d gone and ripped it from us both.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there in my car. Alexis had told me Fiona no longer worked at Hot Coffee, but since she still frequented regularly, I’d stopped there first. Alexis and Eli were the only ones on shift, and it turned out Fiona hadn’t even been at school that day. The girls had tried to contact her, but Fiona wasn’t responding. If she wasn’t responding to them, I knew there was no chance she’d respond to me, so I simply drove to her apartment where she couldn’t so easily blow me off without hearing me out.

The sun had sunken behind the row of apartment buildings, but the sky was still light. I figured I’d waited long enough to not be interrupting dinner, so I climbed out of Mom’s 4Runner, grabbed the peace offering picked up from the grocery store, and made my way toward her front door. Lights were on inside the apartment, a good sign. Usually if anyone was home, it was Fiona, since her mother always worked sporadic hours.

My knocking on the door brought no immediate answer, and I started debating whether to knock again or walk away. I was just about to leave when the door opened and Ms. Winter was standing before me.

“Hi, Sean,” she said, warmly. “What brings you by this evening?”

“Alexis told me Fiona wasn’t in school today, so I brought a little something to hopefully make her feel better.” I held up the plastic pack with a few cans of soup, dinner rolls, and Oreos.

“I see,” she said, her smile faltering very slightly. “Why don’t you come inside?”

She left the door open for me, so I could close it once I’d entered. I set the grocery bag on the kitchen table and took a quick peek around. Fiona wasn’t anywhere in sight. Her bedroom door was open, so she probably wasn’t sleeping, but she could still be in there. However, before I could glance into her open doorway and hopefully catch a glimpse of her, Ms. Winter offered me a folded piece of printer paper.

“What’s this?” I asked, seeing the word “Mom” in large, block letters on the outside.

“Just read it,” she said and walked into the kitchen.

I unfolded the paper and found a letter in Fiona’s handwriting; she wasn’t there at all. She wasn’t sick. She was…gone.

“When was this?” I asked after my first read-through, since the letter wasn’t dated.

“Yesterday,” she said, walking back toward me, then leaning on the back of one of the dining room chairs. “I found it in her room this morning when I went to wake her up. What do you know about her search for her father?”

I didn’t know where to begin. I was afraid if I told her the whole truth, then she’d never want me to speak to her daughter again. But on the other hand, Fiona running away to find him was serious, making it obvious how much she needed help.

“What do you know about our breakup?” I asked.

“She hasn’t wanted to talk about what happened and I didn’t pry. Teenagers break up all the time. I presumed it had something to do with you going off to NYU next year and her wanting to stay local, but I could be way off base.”

I took a deep breath, finding it hard to look her in the eyes. “It was about her obsessive search for her father,” I finally said. “I was helping her.”

She didn’t look as shocked as I would have expected, but still answered as if she was completely unaware. “Is that so? How did you help, exactly?”

She asked me to sit at the table while she took a seat adjacent. I went through how I’d helped Fiona for years—all the things I was never supposed to talk about with anyone, especially her mother. But it seemed important to come clean now, because Fiona could be in real trouble. It was the right thing to do, no matter how bad it made me feel afterwards. After this admission, I hoped Fiona would talk to me again. But more importantly, I hoped I’d be able to see her once more—home safe, where she should be.