Tamsen waits for me by the door as I sling my bags over my shoulder. The moment I look at Trick asleep on the couch, a river of tears breaches the bank. My friend has me in her arms in a heartbeat, her jacket absorbing my sobs. She hands me a wad of tissue and leads me out the door.

“Goodbye, beautiful,” he whispers.

We both still. Tamsen grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. The reassurance and strength I need to not look back.

We wait a few seconds. Nothing. And then we continue out the door, the sharp click of it shutting in the background.

When we get to Tamsen’s car parked on the street, she grabs my bags and puts them in the trunk. As I open the passenger door, my heart stops, strangled by the grip on my arm.

Trick stands before me in a pair of jeans and nothing else, eyes red like they’re bleeding with pain. Grabbing my head, he fists my hair and kisses me painfully hard—desperate, demanding, eternal. “I know you can’t forget, so if you’re going to remember something, remember this. You fucking own Every. Single. Piece. Of. Me.” His voice breaks, our mouths a breath away. “I love you. I live for you. I fucking breathe for you. That’s what you need to remember … only that.”

Ugly, harrowing sobs rip through my throat as my heart feels like it’s rupturing in my chest. Turning, he walks to the door of the building without looking back.

It took everything I had to walk away, and even then I left so much behind. Trick’s not just my husband; somewhere along the way he became a part of me and I became part of him. I know he’ll always have that part. I can never get it back. There’s just two questions I need to figure out: Can I live without it? And do I want to?

There is no one to blame for any of this. It’s like two cars crashing because they both merge to the center lane at the same time. It’s coincidence, an unfortunate circumstance—bad timing. But even when there’s no one to blame, there are still casualties.

“Hey, Nana. It’s me.”

She opens the door and without a single word or explanation of the past few days. She knows to hold out her arms to me. I fall apart in my safety net, and eventually, after many long emotional minutes, I tell her everything.

She hands me some water and a cool washcloth for my puffy eyes.

“What would you do?” I sniffle.

She sits in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not Darby Roth and Trick is not my husband. This is your experience in life, my dear. Every woman has a place inside where she holds her truth. I think of it as our essence. It’s where we recognize our greatest love, our greatest hope, and our greatest fear. It’s where you’ll find your answer. You’re right. Forgiveness is not enough. But it’s a package deal. You can’t forget about Trick’s past any more than he can erase it. When you look at him, can you love all of him? Can you look past his scars?” She leans forward. “It’s not a test. This isn’t a measure of your love for him. It’s just a choice: left or right, chocolate or vanilla, ocean or mountain. But it has to be your choice.”

After leaving Nana’s to go back to the home that she refused to sell, I start counting—seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days. Eventually the days morph into weeks. I go back to working at the hospital on a temporary as-needed basis. Thanksgiving comes with little celebration, nothing more than dinner at a nice restaurant with Nana and a holiday greeting text from both Tamsen and Grady. Tamsen at least tells me she and Trick are in California with Grady for the holiday. Then I get the text I’m not expecting.

I cry, missing him so much … but I’m still crumbling.

Every day I try to gauge my thoughts, putting them on a mental scale. On one side is Trick and on the other is his past. Nana’s right. They are a package deal, because it’s still so impossible to think about one and not the other. I keep hoping one day I’ll wake up and just know, maybe the universe will give me a sign.

I welcome the days I get called into work. It’s an emotional reprieve for a few hours. I even get invited out with Jade and a few other people from the ER. I laugh on cue, smile when someone looks at me, and occasionally contribute one or two words to the conversation. But mostly, I think about Trick.

I cry, missing him so much … but I’m still crumbling.

By Christmas I’m numb, eight weeks without seeing him or hearing his voice. Two texts, that’s all, and I couldn’t even muster the emotional strength to reply to either one. I left him. He’s being respectful of my wishes and giving me space. But sometimes I wonder if it’s too much space. Is he still waiting on me? The last text was over three weeks ago. Will someone else fill the void I left? Before leaving for Nana’s I call Tamsen.

“Merry Christmas! God, I miss you. We are getting together for New Year’s and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I smile and it’s genuine; I think the first one I’ve had since leaving New York. Tamsen has that effect. “Merry Christmas. I miss you too, and New Year’s is definitely a huge yes.”

“So I was late sending my gift, but you should get it by Monday.”

“What? You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t get you anything. Now I feel like a terrible friend.”

“Whatever. It’s nothing big. So did Santa come to Darby’s?”

I laugh. “Not yet. I’m going to Nana’s for brunch and we’ll exchange gifts there. What are you doing?”

“Praying Grady doesn’t burn down the joint. He and Trick are frying a turkey on the patio, which I don’t think is allowed in my building.”

Just his name has my breath held hostage in my throat, heart pounding, tears stinging the back of my eyes.

“Who are you talking to?” Grady calls in the background.

“Darby,” Tamsen replies.

“Give me the phone. Hey, baby girl! Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks, Grady. You too.”

“Just because you’re not talking to my boy doesn’t mean you need to snub me. I haven’t heard from you since Thanksgiving. Do I need to schedule us a spa day?”

I laugh, wiping my tears. “That sounds amazing.”

“It’s a date then. Before I head back out to LA we’ll have a Grady Darby day. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Fabulous. I have to check on Turkey Tom. Love you.”

“You too.” The numbness I felt a few minutes ago has completely dissolved and the pain is pulsing from old wounds.

“Sorry about that.” Tamsen laughs. “He’s such an attention hog … Trick, check the potatoes in the oven,” she yells. “Ugh, it’s crazy around here. I’d better go.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Love you. Tell Nana Merry Christmas from us.”

More tears fall. “Okay.”

“New Year’s … call you soon. Bye.”

“Bye,” I whisper after we’re already disconnected.

I cry, missing him so much … but I’m still crumbling.

I take a massive detour to Nana’s. This morning’s phone conversation put me into an unexpected tailspin, and now all I can do is think about Trick, but they’re no longer just thoughts, they’re a need. This sudden need takes me to Rogue Seduction. I frown when I see the For Lease sign in the window. I had no idea Grady gave up on finding a replacement for Trick. Part of me wondered if Trick went back to work, like I did—guess not.

As I pull around to the back of the building, I push the button to the garage door.

Empty.

I pull in, get out, and flip on the lights. Barren, there’s absolutely nothing here. I take the elevator upstairs and step out into another completely bare room. Not a single piece of furniture or anything of Trick’s or Grady’s. I open a few kitchen cabinets and then the refrigerator.

Nothing.

I don’t know why but right now, I’m feeling as hollow and empty as this place. As I turn to leave, something catches my eye. It’s a package on the floor leaning against the glass wall to the bathroom. I move toward it with caution, a weird sense of fear. Bending down I take the envelope that’s taped to it with my name on it. Pulling out a folded sheet of paper, I take a deep breath and let it out with tears … so many tears. I have no idea what all these words mean yet, but just seeing his handwriting and my name at the top brings so many emotions to the surface.

Darby,

If you’re reading this, it means you’re here. I don’t know why you came, but with no word from you I’ve come to believe it’s to say goodbye. If it makes me a coward, so be it, but I cannot hear those words fall from your beautiful lips. So here’s all I can give you right now. I hope somewhere in these words you’ll find the closure you need.

Our story, although too short, was perfect because our life together was timeless. Still, losing you so quickly felt cruel, until I accepted my past. Now I know that you came into my life to give it back to me. As ugly and riddled with shame as it is, it’s a part of who I am and without the memory of it, I would have always felt incomplete. Now the void in my heart—my soul—is you.

You are the most beautiful and extraordinary person I know. I pity the people who had the chance to be in your life and chose not to. For me, every second has been such a gift, one that I probably didn’t deserve. I will never look at my ring finger without remembering that you said “yes.” But the mark you left on my heart will live on long after my body is gone. It will transcend time to a perfect place where our past is forgotten and pain doesn’t exist.

I will forever feel the lingering of your breath on my neck, your heart against my chest. I’ll see your lips wrapped around my jelly spoon, brilliant blue eyes filled with love, and the blinding smile of my BFF—my breakfast soul mate—the woman who said “yes.”

I know you love me—I really do. This is all on me … I did this to us. But I know I can’t fix it, so I’m going to do the only thing I can. I’m going to give you your freedom and hope that someone deserving of your love can pick up the pieces and mend them with a love worthy of your heart.

Goodbye, Darby Carmichael

Trick

Carmichael—I can barely breathe.

Swollen eyes, blurred ink, and a bleeding heart.

With shaky hands, I lift the package and notice another envelope behind it. Setting the package back down, I open the envelope—divorce papers with his signature. If it’s physically possible to die of a broken heart then this is where they’ll find my body. The papers slip through my fingers and float to the floor in slow motion like a dream, because this just cannot be real. I buckle over resting my hands on my knees, my body wracked with sobs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My tears fall to the brown paper covering the package. I pick it up and rip off the paper with an uncontrolled anger, a death grip of pain.

“Oh … my … God …” I sob even harder, holding the sketch—Just … no words. A blown up black and white photo—every detail finished with such precision I can feel it, like I’m in the picture … in the moment. It’s Trick’s lower abdomen with me pressing my lips to his black sanskrit tattoo and his hand fisted in my hair.

Leaning against the glass wall, I slide down it, completely drained. In this exact moment I realize something … I’m no longer crumbling. I pull my phone out of my coat pocket and text my husband.