Chapter 4: Packing Up the Past

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3

With red-rimmed eyes, I returned home.

I pressed a cold washcloth to my face before stepping inside, not wanting any nosy neighbor to see I’d been crying.

I sat in a daze for most of the day before finally getting up to pack my things.

The sun moved across the living room carpet in golden stripes. I stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily, listening to the ticking of the old wall clock. Finally, I pulled myself together and dug out my suitcase from under the bed.

The school term was about to start, and the journey was long.

I spread my clothes on the faded bedspread: a couple of pairs of jeans, a sweater my mother knitted, and the sensible shoes Dad always said were good for travel. I kept telling myself: You can do this, Natalie.

The train ticket I had bought earlier had already been taken by Derek, who said he would help me get a refund.

It sat on his nightstand, tucked inside a dog-eared paperback. I felt a flicker of irritation—he always said he’d handle things, but somehow it always ended up more complicated for me.

When we first bought tickets, there were none available for the same day, so my departure for the Midwest was set a day earlier than his.

That meant I was supposed to leave tomorrow morning.

The calendar on the fridge circled in red reminded me: one more night in this house, one more sleep before everything changed.

I had to get my ticket back, or it would be too late to buy another one.

The thought made me anxious. I checked my purse three times, making sure I had enough cash for emergencies.

I quietly made lunch, treating it as a farewell meal for both my past and present selves—and for Derek.

I whipped up a grilled cheese and tomato soup, comfort food that reminded me of snow days as a kid. As I ate, I looked around the kitchen, memorizing every detail, every crack in the linoleum. I promised myself this was the last time I’d put someone else’s dreams ahead of my own.