Chapter 10: The Package

A week drags by like a month.

I force myself out of the apartment. Walk to the corner store for milk. Apply for new jobs online. Sketch a little—the lines come out shaky, dark.

Everything feels gray.

Grandma tries to keep things normal. She bakes too much, fills the fridge with cookies and pies. We eat dinner together every night, talk about old TV shows—anything but him.

But I see her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking.

Worried.

One afternoon, the doorbell rings.

It’s a delivery guy with a plain brown box. No return address. Just my name.

I sign for it with numb hands.

Grandma raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

I take it to my room and close the door.

Inside: my sketchbook.

The one I left at his place.

And a thick envelope.

And a smaller one with my name in his handwriting.

I open the sketchbook first.

He’s added pages.

Sketches of me.

One of me asleep on his pillow, hair everywhere.

One of me laughing on the couch, mouth open mid-bite of pizza.

One of me in his kitchen wearing his shirt, looking over my shoulder with a smile.

They’re good.

Better than good.

He drew the light in my eyes like he saw something special there.

There are little notes in the margins.

You look peaceful when you sleep.

This was the night you told me about your mom’s favorite song.

You make everything brighter.

Tears drop on the pages before I can stop them.

I wipe them fast so they don’t smudge the pencil.

Then the envelope.

Inside: the black card, cut in half.

And a check.

Enough to cover Grandma’s medicine for two years. Rent for one. My old college loans paid off.

A sticky note on it:

For your future. No strings ever again.

My chest caves in.

Last, the letter.

I unfold it slow.

Lila,

I’m giving you everything back. Your things. Your freedom.

The money is yours. No payback. No contact if you don’t want it.

I’m sorry for how this started. I took advantage when you were scared and desperate. That’s on me.

But I’m not sorry for the nights.

You saved me. More than you know.

Eight years ago someone walked away and left me thinking I didn’t deserve real love.

You showed me I was wrong.

You’re kind and strong and beautiful in ways money can’t buy.

I love you.

I’ll always love you.

If you ever need anything—anything at all—I’m here.

If you don’t, I’ll stay away.

Be happy, Lila. You deserve it more than anyone.

– Noah

The paper shakes in my hands.

I read it three times.

Then I curl up on the bed with the letter against my chest and cry like my heart is breaking.

Because it is.

Grandma knocks soft later.

“Lila? You okay in there?”

I can’t answer.

She comes in anyway, sees me on the bed—sketches scattered, letter crumpled in my fist.

She sits and pulls me into her lap like I’m small again.

I sob into her shoulder.

“He loves me,” I choke out. “And I pushed him away.”

She rocks me slow.

“Then maybe it’s not over, baby.”

But it feels over.

It feels like I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.

Because I thought I wasn’t good enough.

And now the empty space where he was hurts more than anything.

I cry until I can’t anymore.

Grandma holds me the whole time.

Outside, rain starts falling hard against the window.

Like the sky’s crying too.