Her fingers pressed harder against my arms. “Theodore. Let go of me.”
I did—barely. Just enough to look at her.
“Please,” I whispered. “I promise we won’t fight anymore.”
She looked up at me, brows tight, eyes glassy.
“Teddy. You love me and I love you. But that doesn’t mean we’re good for each other right now.”
I took a shaky breath and pulled her into me one last time.
She didn’t resist.
“I’ll fight,” I whispered into her hair. “If there’s any version of the future where we make it back to each other—I’ll fight for it.”
She nodded against my chest.
Then, slowly, she stepped away.
“I love you, Carmen. I love you so fucking much, baby.”
She smiled weakly. “I love you more, Theodore Clayton. Thank you. For everything.”
Reluctantly, she walked toward the jet, her figure getting smaller with every step. And then, with one final look, she boarded.
I stood there long after she disappeared, hand still clenched where her waist used to be.
And for the second time, I let Carmen Reyes slip through my fingers.
?????
The suite was dark, silent except for the slow hum of the AC kicking on, and the distant city traffic bleeding in through the balcony glass. For a moment, I just stood there in the entryway, staring at nothing.
She was really gone.
Carmen had left behind a silence that didn’t belong here anymore. A stillness that pressed down on the room like a hand over my chest. Like it didn’t want me to breathe.
I rubbed a palm down my face and turned toward the bedroom, too tired to think and too wired to sleep. But something caught my eye on the coffee table just before I passed it.
The camcorder.
The one she insisted on bringing with her to Italy. Her little project.
I stepped closer.
The strap was still looped, just like she’d left it. Would she come back for it? Maybe this was a mistake, and she’d walk in any minute to scold me for touching her things.
No, she wouldn’t.
I picked it up cautiously and turned it on. The screen flickered to life with a low beep and a flash of digital static, then settled into the last thing she’d recorded.
I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, as I scrolled to the first video.
It was her voice first — soft, breathy, warm.
“Is this thing even fucking working?” She held the lens so close to her face as she examined the camcorder. “M’kay, so apparently trying to fit my entire wardrobe into a few suitcases is not gonna happen, so I’ll have to downsize.”
I smiled a little at her cute ignorance. This was probably taken in her apartment before she came here. I could tell by the photo of us hanging on her wall. Part of me wondered if she would take it down when she got home.
