I Saved 10,000 Points For Our Wedding, He Deducted 500 For Her Chapter 09

I Saved 10,000 Points For Our Wedding, He Deducted 500 For Her Chapter 09

“No.” His voice was quiet.

“But I don’t know what else to do. Claire, tell me. What else can I do to make you see me?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I said. “I already see you. Seeing you and forgiving you are two different things.”

“Then…” He swallowed.

“At least tell me if there’s any chance that waiting will ever be enough.”

“Whether you wait is your choice. Whether I forgive you is mine. From now on, those things have nothing to

do with each other.”

“I can tell you one thing: I’m never looking back.”

The notebook slowly lowered at his side.

“Go.” I turned and went inside.

That night, he sat beneath the apricot tree for a long time.

Just before dawn, he finally stood and left.

Apricot blossoms covered his shoulders.

An unsealed envelope lay on a stone by the gate.

I opened it. Inside was the leather notebook, with a single sheet of paper tucked into the final pages.

“Claire. I’m leaving. I used to think points were something you could count. Now I know love can’t be measured that way. I can never give back the eight years I took from you. I hope the rest of your life is

peaceful and happy.”

I stood there holding the letter for a moment.

Then I dropped it into the trash with the notebook.

As I turned to leave, a camera caught my eye, propped against the wall beside the gate.

A sticky note in Ethan’s handwriting was stuck to it.

“For the salt flats.”

I carried the camera out toward the water.

In the distance, snowcapped mountains reflected across the surface, clouds seeming to drift beneath the

water.

I drew my arm back and hurled the camera as far as I could.

The black camera broke the surface with a splash. Ripples spread, then smoothed away until the water

looked untouched.

I walked back to the B&B.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

Unknown number. One line.

“I’m boarding now. I’m sorry for the last eight years.”

I stared at it for three seconds.

Then I pressed and held the message, deleted it, and blocked the number.

When I finished, I looked up.

Out here, there was almost no light pollution. The Utah night sky was full of stars.

I thought of myself at eighteen.

Back then, I’d never heard of points. I’d never learned to earn love. I didn’t yet know that two adults could turn

a relationship into a game of addition and subtraction.

That summer, I used to sit alone on the roof of my group home and watch the stars.

Back then, I watched them for one simple reason: they were beautiful.

The wind whispered through the wildflowers.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then turned and pushed open the B&B door.

“Welcome in.”

Warm yellow light spilled through the doorway. Guests were laughing inside.

I closed the door behind me. The stars kept shining above the roof.

This time, I was only waiting for the wind.