“Come with me,” he said.

My eyes flicked upwards where Andrew’s wall-to-wall windows offered a view into his living room. Camilla sat on the couch, sipping a cup of tea. Her legs tucked underneath her, she looked relaxed and at home. Technically it was, making me the guest. A knife slid into my chest. My legs stumbled backwards and I glanced down, surprised there wasn’t a gaping hole.

Andrew reached forward as if to steady me. “Haven. Are you ok?”

The longer I stood here, staring at the only man who I’d ever trusted, the only man I’d ever loved, the deeper the pain cut. Whatever happened between Andrew and Camilla didn’t change anything. Andrew had built our relationship on a foundation of lies—there was no recovering from that.

“Go home.” Spinning around on my heels, I headed in the opposite direction. “Your wife is waiting for you.”

“That’s it?!” Andrew called after me. “You are just going to leave? From the beginning of this relationship you’ve had one foot out the door.”

I should have been the bigger man and kept walking but he had no right to place the blame on me. I was upfront with my faults from the beginning.

“And you were any different?!” I shot back, eyes blazing. “This entire time you kept a piece of yourself locked away. I thought maybe I was imagining things. That your words were proof enough that you cared for me, maybe even loved me.”

“I do love you!” Andrew declared. He ran forward and sunk to his knees. Folding my hands in his, he looked up at me with desperation. “I love you so much, Haven, that it scares the crap out of me. Camilla doesn’t own my heart, you do.”

Every ounce of my soul wanted to believe him and rewind this past hour. That’s not how it worked though.

His touch created a barrier from the mind numbing cold. Except that cold was the only thing tethering me to the sidewalk. Otherwise, I would have floated away in sea of heartbreak. Breaking our interlocked palms, Andrew’s lips thinned.

I breathed deeply, finding the words I didn’t want to utter. “You have been dealt a tremendous blow this year, Andrew—losing your wife and child. If anybody understands grief, it’s me but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you were dishonest. You made a fool out of me. Your whole family, Matthew, and your stupid frat brother knew you were married.

Andrew spoke. “My family understood the situation. They knew why I hadn’t divorced yet.”

“That doesn’t matter! It’s humiliating. You had a million chances to tell me, like last night for example. I’m guessing when Matthew came by it was to warn you that Camilla had returned.” Andrew’s gaze fell to the snow dusted ground, which said everything and explained nothing. A hollow laugh rose from my throat. “You know what’s the worst part? If you were upfront and honest, I would have broken every single rule I believed in because my love for you was blinding. Now that I can see again, it has become obvious to me we were just two broken people trying to find comfort in each other’s arms.”

Soaking in one last look at Andrew, I committed to memory the single freckle on the left side of his nose and the way his eyes changed color on a dime. Although I didn’t need to. His handsome face would be haunting my dreams from here on out.

I choked on a mouthful of tears. “Goodbye.”

Andrew slumped forward, raw devastation heavy on his shoulders. I lifted my chin and picked up my suitcase. Not looking back was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Halfway around the block, I ducked into an alleyway and slid down the brick wall. Sobs racked my body as my happy ending came to a resounding close.

Dear Andrew,

My whole body aches as if I’m coming down with the flu. According to Monica and Mallory though, it is simply a standard case of broken heart. You see I wouldn’t know that because this whole experience is new to me. No man has shattered my defenses like you did.

For twenty-three years, I never understood why my friends would come to me crying, saying they were going to die because their boyfriends left them. I chalked it up to overactive hormones but now that I’m in their shoes, it has become clear. You really do feel like you’re going to die or at least you feel like the world has been leeched of color. God, I sound overdramatic, don’t I? It’s your fault for turning me into this person. It’s your fault for a lot of things. I’m so mad at you, Andrew, my hands are curled into tight balls when the sun rises. I’m also sad because you aren’t sleeping next to me. Who knew the five stages of grief applied to an array of tragedies?

Excuse the randomness of this letter. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since my 1986 Honda cruised off the used car lot back in Detroit. Since there isn’t a stereo and only a tape deck, the nice sales guy loaned me a couple of tapes. Tina Turner kept my company along the confusing number of freeways I had to navigate. One song in particular, ‘I Don’t Wanna Lose You,’ was played on repeat. My mother would have a heart attack if she heard that. She raised me listening to Aretha Franklin and thought Tina Turner was too whiny.

I’m currently in St. Louis at a run down motel called the Seashore Inn, which is weird because it’s nowhere near water. Although, my room does have a beach theme. The walls are colored this awful foam green and the woven sea grass headboard smells like a moldy sponge. You would laugh at the singing fish above the TV, but let’s be honest. If I were with you, we wouldn’t be staying here. It was obvious when we were (the past tense still doesn’t sound right to me) together you liked your luxuries. Fancy car, big loft apartment, and an art studio with million dollar views, yet your personality didn’t match up. You are an enigma, Andrew.

Remember that time we were lying in bed, legs entwined and you told me that the moment I walked up to your table at the strip club it was fate intervening? That I was the girl you were destined to be with. Did you really believe that? Because sometimes I would catch your eye across a crowded room and think the same thing. Man, did I love you, still do.

Love. It’s an emotion that has the power to destroy you or lift you up. Right now, it’s ripping me to shreds, but you already knew that. As I sat down to write this letter, your name lit up my call screen. You have rung a half dozen times since yesterday morning. I haven’t picked up any of them. I can’t—not when you are my drug, my salvation. When it comes to you Andrew, I’m weak.

Monica encouraged me to change my number but then my only connection to you would be cut off and then this nightmare would become real. I guess that is why I’m writing this ridiculously long note. It’s my way of staying close to you. After all, you were the one who said you preferred old fashion letter writing. Although, I know I’ll never send it. I don’t want to run the risk of Camilla reading my word vomit.

Camilla. Her name makes me want to a punch a wall. At night, thoughts of you together keep me up till dawn. If I could wish on a thousand stars that our paths had crossed earlier, I would because then maybe you would have married me instead of her. Playing the ‘what if’ game won’t do anything, I know that, but a girl can dream.

It has been thirty-six hours, nine minutes, and twenty-five seconds since I left you kneeling in the snow.

Love, sincerely , best wishes

Goodnight,

Haven

Dear Andrew,

I almost fucked a random stranger in the restroom of a dive bar off highway 44 near Santa Fe, New Mexico. The old me would have and not batted an eye. The itch was so strong that my skin crawled. Everybody has their own vices. For some it’s chocolate, for others it’s alcohol, for me its sex—or it was sex. My last one-night-stand was December 9 th , 2012. It wasn’t anything partially exciting nor something I want to revisit. From that day forward, I’ve stuck to cheesy romantic comedies and pasta. Last night though, carbs couldn’t erase the numbness that has sunk into my bones, only carnal pleasure could.