Things We Left Behind Novels & Stories

On the day of our family trip, I wake up early, only to find the house empty. As I wonder what is going on, a message from my younger twin brother, Carson Smyth, suddenly pops up in the family group chat. "Oh, no! I forgot to update in this group chat that the departure time has been moved forward!" The very next second, the message is deleted. I stare blankly at the empty chat, my eyes stinging. So they have another group chat—one that doesn't include me. Still reeling, I get a call from Mom. "I'm sorry, Caleb. The departure time was moved up by an hour, and I forgot to tell you. Hurry and take a cab here! You might still be able to catch up—" My older sister, Carina Smyth, cuts her o

I say. "I've created a community." "What's the difference?" "Legacy is about what you leave behind. Community is about what you build together." --- Winter is coming. The garden sleeps. Oak curls at Celeste's feet, his head on her knee. I write at the kitchen table. The rain drums against the windows. "I've been thinking about the shape of what remains," Celeste says. "What remains of what?" "Of us. Of our lives. Of everything we've built." "And?"

My brain lines these things up without effort. Whoever was there is gone. I am certain of that. But gone never means erased. People always leave something behind. Pressure in the soil. A scent pressed too lightly to notice unless you are looking for it. A choice that reveals intent. I can almost map their path in my head, step by careful step. There must be something that they must have left behind them... and that will be enough for me to find them.

The faint, lingering scent of her vanilla shampoo hangs in the air, a ghost mocking me. She really did it. Despite everything I just did to protect her, she packed her bags. She left me. Again. Harper’s POV We finish packing the absolute bare necessities into our suitcases in a frantic, terrifying flurry. We are leaving behind almost everything we own. Leaving our old furniture behind is painful, but we don’t have much of a choice. All of our childhood photos, the books I saved up to buy, my mom’s favorite cast-iron frying pan. All of it has to be abandoned if we’re going to make it out of town in one piece.

"Jasmine is dead!" She pointed to the scattered pieces of paper on the floor. With a mocking glance at him, she added, "You really don't want to read that? Those are the last words she left behind for you." William's eyes followed her finger, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the torn fragments of the letter. The wind blew them around, and through the scraps, he could still make out faint traces of writing. He took a step back, his legs shaking. "No... this can't be real…" he muttered. "She's the woman who outlasted storms—how the hell does a force like that just... vanish?"

For the things she couldn't take with her, she scrawled a final note and stuck it to the refrigerator. Thank you for enduring my terrible breakfast for all this time. Whatever I couldn’t take with me, I’m leaving behind. Please throw it away for me, or just let the maid have it. Good luck ka, P’ Wee.

Leaving me to huddle over the empty shell he left behind. ***

Mo’s POV Three months later.... I didn’t plan to leave , especially not now. Not because I didn’t desire to behold the beauty of Eiffel Tower or devote myself to eating croissants, the so not buttery type, till the point it would feel illegal. But because, from my view leaving behind everything would mean I had moved on, that I had discarded the beautiful memories we created together. The friendship that I built with Kira and Leigh ever since we met each other. It would mean that I want to sweep everything under the carpet, to never keep a memory of us together.

They were so small, so peaceful, like they were completely untouched by all the mess we’d made. I reached out to touch the crib rail but stopped before my fingers made contact. They didn't deserve to carry the weight of a broken home. I backed away slowly, pulling the door almost shut behind me. I wasn't leaving them. I was leaving the cage. Back in our bedroom, I started packing. I didn't need much—just a few clothes, my keepsakes, and anything that belonged to me and only me. Sometimes, leaving is the only way I get to keep my soul. *****

She held up the wooden bird, and Eve’s breath caught, and she reached into her bag, slowly, and pulled out the matching one, holding it up beside Naomi’s, the two birds sitting together for the first time in fifty years, mismatched wings facing mismatched wings, finally, completely, whole. “Someone made these for us,” Eve said softly. “Whoever it was. They wanted us to have something. Even if we never understood what it meant until now.” “I think,” Naomi said gently, “they wanted us to find each other. Eventually. Even if it took fifty years.” Eve looked past Naomi, into the house, at Cloe and Mac and Dave standing quietly in the doorway, this strange, warm group of strangers who had somehow