It was during Hurricane Helene that I made a decision I probably shouldn’t have. I knew she didn’t want to see me anymore—she had made that painfully clear. But I couldn’t let go. Not fully. Even though I knew she had moved on, there was still this part of me that held on, convinced she might still need me somehow.
The hurricane had brought down trees everywhere, making the drive nearly impossible. A trip that should have taken eight minutes stretched into forty, as I navigated around fallen branches and debris. I kept pushing forward, telling myself I just wanted to check on her. It was a hurricane, after all. I didn’t want to worry, not knowing if she was okay. That’s what I told myself anyway.
When I finally made it to her house, my heart sank. There, standing on the doorstep, was another man.
In that moment, I felt the truth I had been denying for so long crash down on me. She had moved on. I knew it. Deep down, I had known it for months. But seeing him there made it real in a way I wasn’t ready for. The pain was sharper than anything I had imagined.
I circled the block, torn between walking away and confronting the truth. But I had to know. I had to be sure she was okay. I wasn’t there to cause trouble or make things difficult for her. I just wanted to know she was happy, that she was safe.
When I came back around, he was gone. In his place, she stood, cigarette in hand, like everything was normal. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but she barely acknowledged me. A few mumbled words—“Yeah, I’m fine”—and then she turned her back on me, walking away as if I didn’t matter.
It was clear she didn’t want to talk. Maybe she was going to get her new boyfriend, someone to run me off. I’ll never know. But what hit me hardest was the way she turned away, like I was a ghost from a past she no longer cared about.
Driving away in the storm, I broke down. Reality hit me like a wave. I had been living in a fantasy, convincing myself that we were soulmates, that somehow, after all the fighting and distance, she still loved me. But she didn’t. She had moved on, and I was stuck in the past, holding onto a dream that was never coming back.
That night, something inside me finally broke. I realized she was gone—truly gone—and that she no longer cared about me. It was a final, crushing blow, and in that moment, I knew I had to move on.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t shake the belief that she was my soulmate, my best friend, the person I thought I could always rely on. We had shared something special, or at least, I thought we had. I had taken her for granted, and now she was gone, and I was left with the weight of everything I’d lost.
That’s when I made the decision to retrace our steps. To go back to the places we had visited, the places that had once been full of life and adventure for us. Maybe by revisiting those moments, I could find some closure, some way to move forward.
Our story had been beautiful once. We had traveled, explored, grown together. I thought we were on the same path, working toward a future together. I had tried to give her the life she deserved, but I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t enough.
That night, in the middle of a storm, I had imagined myself as some kind of hero—coming to rescue her, to tell her how hard I had been working, how much I had wanted to give her the world. But instead, she had turned away. And there, in the home that used to be ours, was another man.
And that’s where this story begins.