Before I Let Go Novels & Stories

At the party, friends teased us, asking when Rosalie Diaz and I would finally get married. I looked at her, smiling. She said nothing, and stiffly changed the subject. The friend who'd started the teasing glanced at me awkwardly, apology in his eyes. My smile didn't waver. I took a sip of my drink. I've always been a bit of a procrastinator, though not a hopeless one. So I decided to let Rosalie go. And to let myself go, too.

“Maybe this is what it means to love someone for real... knowing they’re safer without you.” I took a breath. A long, slow one that felt like it scraped through my lungs. And I stayed like that for a while—just breathing. Because for the first time in a long time… I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to let go. “Let go…” I muttered. But how? How do you let go of something that stitched itself into your bones? How do you stop wanting something that once made you feel like you could be more than what the world carved you out to be?

However, over time, I realized it hurt more to hold on than to let go. So this is my goodbye. Not out of anger, not out of resentment, but from a quiet, aching place that understands this was never a love story. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m not looking back. I’m choosing to move forward with open hands and a heart that’s tired but still willing to believe in something new.

It feels good to let out some tension before what's to come. "All right, darlin'," I manage between chuckles, "Let's get this over with."

Because I had introduced something it couldn’t control. Individual response. Choice. And now It didn’t know how to hold itself together. “Stability decreasing,” it said. My heart pounded. Good. Let it fall apart. Let it feel what it tried to erase. “You don’t need to control everything,” I said. The words felt strange. Heavy. But right. “You just need to let go.” “Invalid directive.” “Of course it is,” I said softly. “Because letting go means trusting something you can’t control.” The threads pulsed again.

When I got the letter that I got accepted into UCLA, I took that as my saving grace from everything and I made Caroline promise me that she will not tell him. As I plopped my remaining luggage out the porch, I hoped and prayed that my family and Dalton won't get mad at me for not being there on our graduation. I had told my parents to go ahead because I had something else to do, but the truth is, I was leaving for Los Angeles today. I didn't have the heart to face Dalton that I was leaving and never coming back. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I took it out, frowning at the screen readout.

But I didn’t want to go through with it. Keith didn’t answer right away, just watching me in silence. I sighed. "Then I’ll talk to my mom—" Before I could finish, he tugged me down onto the bed, pulling me into his arms. His hold was tight. Too tight. Lately, every time this topic came up, this was how he responded—just holding me like this, as if it could make everything else disappear. "Let’s wait until the lockdown is over, Teresa. We don’t have to rush this, right?"

“Evelyn, I’m going back to Westbridge. “Because of me, you lost four years of your life. And because of me, you were taken hostage today. I don’t have the face to appear in front of you anymore. “Actually, I knew long ago that you would never forgive me. I just refused to believe it.” He looked at Evelyn leaning in Julian’s arms, completely trusting and relying on him, and gave a bleak smile. “Now that you’ve found your own happiness, it’s time for me to… let go.” The last few words came out with immense difficulty. There was no pain greater than wishing the woman he loved a lifetime of happiness with someone else. “Mason, let the past stay in the past. No matter what, thank you.” In the mom

The club pulsed with vibrant energy, the bass reverberating through every inch of my body. I'd come out to forget, forget the endless bills, forget the silent apartment, forget the ex who vanished when I needed him most. But tonight wasn't about sadness. Tonight, it was about me, and for once, letting go.

And then— > Come for me, Luna. It hit like a wave. My hips arched off the bed, toes curling into the sheets. The sound that broke from me was raw, too loud for the silence of the room, but I didn’t care. I fell back into the mattress, trembling, breathless. My hand rested over my heart, trying to steady the pounding beneath it. The toy went still. I blinked back tears—not of sadness. Of release. I'm finally letting go. One last message came through: