Chapter 4: Secrets and Farewells

Ethan looked confused.

His eyebrows knit together, as if trying to piece together a puzzle he’d never solved. I could see the uncertainty flicker across his face.

In my previous life, we got together five years later, in 2000.

It was a different time—flip phones and AOL chatrooms everywhere, boy bands on the radio, and everyone chasing after jobs in tech or finance. We met again at a college reunion, the air thick with nostalgia and regret.

By then, we had both graduated.

We’d traded textbooks for briefcases, late-night study sessions for office politics. The world felt bigger, but lonelier.

Savannah had gone abroad, met an American businessman, and married quickly.

She sent postcards from Paris and New York—pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty—her handwriting looping across the page. Her life seemed glamorous, but I wondered if she ever felt the same emptiness I did.

Ethan proposed to me.

It was a quiet moment, just the two of us on a park bench, the city lights twinkling in the distance. He didn’t get down on one knee, but his words were sincere, and he gave me a simple gold ring.

Even then, we hadn’t seen each other for three years since graduation.

We’d drifted apart, each chasing our own dreams. The reunion felt more like a second chance than a new beginning.

I agreed to marry him without hesitation.

I thought saying yes would make everything fall into place. I wanted to believe that love could be built from shared history alone.

When you lack self-respect, you believe time can solve everything.

I clung to the hope that time would heal old wounds, that love would grow if I just waited long enough—just like the advice in every self-help book I’d ever read.

As long as Ethan was mine, I thought there’d be time to make things right.

But as it turns out, seventy years wasn’t enough.

Seventy years of compromise, of trying to fit together like mismatched puzzle pieces. The ache never faded.

Yet just a few days after I was reborn, when I stopped revolving around Ethan, I saw hints of the things I’d longed for in my past life.

I felt lighter, more myself. The world seemed to open up, offering possibilities I’d never considered before.

But I don’t believe it.

I didn’t trust the change, not yet. Old habits die hard.

Ethan can’t have feelings for me.

At least, not now.

He’s just not used to me leaving.

I didn’t wait for Ethan to reply. "Ethan, only you know my parents are diplomats, right?"

I watched his face, searching for any sign of understanding.

Everyone else always thought I was an orphan, with no relatives.

It was a story I’d let people believe, easier than explaining the truth.

For example, Savannah Lee, who was walking toward us.

She was always in motion, her energy filling up every space. Her skirt fluttered in the breeze, and she waved as she approached, arms full of Target shopping bags.

Ethan said impatiently, "I’ve never told anyone. Don’t you hate talking about family with others?"

He glanced at Savannah, as if daring me to contradict him. His loyalty was fierce, even if he didn’t always show it.

Yes, between us, only Savannah thought I was an orphan.

It was a secret I’d kept close, trusting only Ethan to know the truth.

Ethan frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

His eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in his gaze.

"Savannah never said anything about you."

He was defensive, unwilling to believe anything bad about her.

"Come on, Savannah wouldn’t do that."

His voice was firm, but there was a hint of uncertainty beneath the surface.

Everyone thought I was closest to her.

Savannah had a way of making everyone feel special, but I knew the distance between us was growing.

She should have been the one to keep my secrets.

But trust is a fragile thing, easily broken.

I didn’t answer, as Savannah waved and ran toward us in her flowing skirt.

She grinned, her arms full of shopping bags, and called out my name with a laugh.

I stepped back, hastily closed my scattered suitcase, and tossed it next to the trash can.

I tried to act casual, but my hands shook. The suitcase landed with a thud, drawing a few curious glances.

Then I turned and walked out of the campus gate.

The sun was setting, painting the world in gold and pink. I felt the weight of every step, the finality of leaving.

News of my going abroad kept spreading.

Social media lit up with posts and messages—some congratulating me, others speculating about my reasons. My phone buzzed with notifications I ignored.

Many people reached out—some envious, some wishing me luck, some saying, "If you get rich..."

The messages ranged from sincere to sarcastic. I smiled at the ones that made me laugh, and deleted the ones that didn’t.

Later, someone suggested a farewell party for me.

It was Savannah’s idea, of course—she loved any excuse for a celebration. She booked the karaoke bar downtown, sent out invites to half the campus.

At the karaoke bar, Ethan sat silently in the darkest corner, keeping strangers at a distance.

He nursed a soda, his gaze fixed on the floor. The colored neon signs flickered over his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

Colored lights flashed around the room; when people saw me arrive, they cheered.

"Welcome, our college’s first student to study abroad!"

Someone popped a confetti cannon, showering the room in glitter. I laughed, ducking as streamers landed in my hair.

"Come on, let’s have our star of the day make a grand entrance."

A chorus of voices called out, urging me to take center stage. I felt a rush of warmth, mixed with nerves.

"Big shot, sing us a song before you go! Don’t go overseas and forget about us."

The crowd was rowdy, but their smiles were genuine. I felt a pang of nostalgia for the nights we’d spent singing until sunrise.

"You’re going to America, you must speak English, right? Brooks, can you sing in English?"

I grinned, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. The teasing was good-natured, but I could sense the curiosity beneath it.

Looking around, I saw many familiar faces.

Most were Savannah’s ex-boyfriends and their friends.

They raised their drinks in salute, their laughter echoing off the walls. I caught Savannah’s eye, and she winked.

I took the microphone, smiled gently, and said, "I’ll sing an old song. I just learned it."

I chose something bittersweet, the kind of melody that lingers long after the last note fades—a classic Fleetwood Mac tune, soft and haunting.

Before anyone could object, I picked the accompaniment myself.

The opening chords filled the room, soft and haunting. I closed my eyes, letting the music carry me.

As I sang, "Since you love, it’s hard to tell right from wrong, don’t avoid, face it bravely," Ethan moved slightly in the corner.

I saw him shift, fidgeting with his drink. The lyrics seemed to settle over him like a blanket.

The shadow from his bangs hid his expression.

I wondered what he was thinking, if the words reached him at all.

Another lyric went, "How I wish I could give you another chance, how I wish I could ask you who you really love."

The words echoed in the quiet, each syllable heavy with meaning. I felt the old longing rise up, but I pushed it down.

He remained unmoved.

Ethan’s face was a mask, unreadable. I tried to meet his eyes, but he looked away, staring at his soda.

The feelings among three people—I should let them end quietly.

I finished the song, letting the final note linger. It was time to let go, to move forward.

When the song ended, there was a moment of stunned silence, then applause.

The crowd erupted, clinking glasses, shouting my name, snapping selfies. I smiled, bowing my head in thanks.

I walked to the booth, opened a bottle of soda, and took a sip, tilting my head.

The cold fizz tickled my throat, and I leaned back, watching the chaos unfold around me.

The room stayed lively.

Someone started a group singalong, the lyrics devolving into laughter. Friends danced on the tables, and Savannah led a conga line around the bar, then started a round of Flip Cup.

Everyone seemed to forget the original reason for the party, fighting over the microphone and singing in all sorts of distorted voices, making people laugh.

Ethan suddenly spoke up. "Lillian Brooks, you said if you love someone, you should be brave, right?"

His voice cut through the noise, drawing everyone’s attention. I turned, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

I answered without hesitation, "Yes, whether you love or not."

I met his eyes, refusing to back down. The truth felt liberating.

His gaze fell on Savannah, who was already mingling with a group of guys.

She laughed, her arm draped around a friend’s shoulders. Ethan watched her, his expression unreadable.

"So it’s cool she’s always got a new guy?"

His tone was challenging, almost bitter.

"She just changes boyfriends a lot, but she’s never done anything wrong."

I defended Savannah, knowing her heart was always in the right place.

"I always thought she was just passionate."

Ethan turned to me.

His eyes were sharp, searching for something he couldn’t name.

"So I don’t believe she leaked your secret."

He spoke with conviction, unwilling to see Savannah as anything but loyal.

"Even about today’s party."

"Even if it has something to do with her, I don’t believe she meant any harm."

He wanted to believe the best in her, in all of us.

"Lillian, I never thought you were someone who hints at things indirectly."

His words stung, more than I expected.

"This time, you’ve really disappointed me."

I shook the half bottle of orange soda in my hand.

The fizz bubbled up, spilling over the rim. I watched the droplets land on the table, each one a tiny explosion of color.

"So what?"

My voice was calm, but my heart raced.

"What?"

Ethan looked at me, confusion and frustration mingling in his eyes.

"Ethan, you’ve always known I liked you, haven’t you?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I saw him flinch, just slightly.

He suddenly looked away.

He stared at the wall, jaw tight. The silence between us felt endless.

I continued, "You think that the person who loves someone without being loved in return is always the lesser one."

I let the words settle, watching his reaction.

"Passionate people, whatever they do, it’s always seen as complicated; the person who loves uninvited is always the one to blame."

I spoke softly, but the pain behind the words was real.

"I’ve never thought that."

Ethan leaned over, picked up a bottle of soda, but noticed a lipstick mark.

He hesitated, glancing at Savannah. His cheeks reddened, and he set the bottle down awkwardly.

He instinctively looked over at Savannah, then awkwardly put the bottle down.

I smiled.

The moment was oddly sweet, a reminder of all the ways we’d danced around each other for years.

"Ethan, you’re not so perfect yourself."

I let the words sink in, knowing they’d hit home.

"Your feelings are like old junk in the attic, never daring to see the light."

I spoke quietly, but the truth was clear.

"But everyone knows, and everyone avoids the mess."

Ethan’s face changed; he picked up the soda and drank it all in one go, stubbornly.

He wiped his mouth, refusing to look at me. The tension in the room was palpable.

It was rare to see him like this.

He was usually so composed, but now he seemed almost vulnerable.

But I felt nothing but aversion.

The old ache was gone, replaced by a sense of resolve.

I stood up. "If you love someone, you can try to please them, but you don’t have to sacrifice others."

I looked around the room, meeting the eyes of friends and strangers alike. I felt lighter, freer than I had in years.

"Ethan, I won’t be your excuse anymore."

My voice was steady, the finality clear.

"It’s best if we don’t see each other again."

I picked up my bag, ready to step into the night. The world outside was waiting, and for the first time, I was ready to meet it on my own terms. I walked out into the night, finally free.