white scarf I’d knitted for him, with a little “S”
embroidered on the end. He smiled when he
saw me, kissing my forehead and handing me a
warm breakfast. “Be good. Focus on your
internship.” He promised to take me to dinner
after work.
I was so excited, texting him throughout the
day. He told me to invite my friends to
celebrate. He’d pay for everything. Just before I
left work, I got a text: “Picking up the cake.
Meet me downstairs.”
I waited. And waited. Winter darkness fell
quickly. I blew on my hands to warm them,
texting him again.
“Is the cake taking longer than expected?”
“Which bakery are you at? Send me your location. I’ll come to you.”
No reply.
654
<
11:01
I found the nearest bakery and started walking.
I overheard people talking about a terrible
–
accident nearby — a drunk driver had run a red
light, hit a pedestrian, then crashed into a
bakery.
My heart pounded. I called Jake. No answer.
I arrived at the scene. Police tape blocked the area. I pushed my way through the crowd and a bloodstained white scarf. My scarf. saw it
―
The little “S” was barely visible. Shattered cake
and frosting littered the ground. My heart
shattered with it.
Jake had been taken to the hospital. I stumbled towards a police officer, my vision blurring.
“Which hospital?”
“City General.”
In the taxi, my phone rang. It was Jake! My
<
11:01
hands shaking, I answered. “Jake! Are you
okay?”
His voice was weak, raspy. “You dropped your
scarf.”
“I have it! It’s right here!”
“Be good. Don’t cry. You’ll get a headache.”
“Eat breakfast.”
“Happy birthday, Sarah.”
“I’ll be at the hospital soon,” I sobbed. “I want
to hear you say it to me. This doesn’t count.”
But it did count. Those were the last words I
ever heard him say. My Jake. He died on my birthday. Jake. Jake. Jake. I called his name,
but there was no answer. All I had left were his
voice messages, saved on my phone, messages I couldn’t bear to delete.
<
I don’t know how I survived those days. Every
day without him was gray. I wished I’d never
met him, never loved him. If he hadn’t come to
celebrate my birthday, he wouldn’t have died. I
never wanted to celebrate another birthday. I
just wanted him back.
- 33.
That amazing summer had ended with a winter
funeral. My heart felt like it had been ripped
out. Our last New Year’s together, we’d made
wishes by the river.
“What did you wish for?” I’d asked.
“To see you in a wedding dress,” he’d said.
“That’s my New Year’s wish.”
“And my second wish is to love you forever.”
“I’ll wear a wedding dress for you someday,” I’d
<
said. “But I’ve never seen you in a suit. I want
to see that.”
“You graduate next year, right?” he’d asked.
“I’ll wear a suit to your graduation. I’ll be there
for your photos, the ceremony. Okay?”
“Okay.” But he never saw me graduate.
I wished it was all a dream.
“Jake,” I whispered, “I haven’t celebrated my
birthday since you left. I hate that day.” He’d
ordered me a cake that year, with a small
envelope attached. I’d never opened it,
pretending that as long as I didn’t read it, he
was still wishing me a happy birthday, that he wasn’t really gone.
Now, I opened the envelope, pulling out the faded card. “Happy 22nd birthday, Mrs. Reed.
Just so you know, I’m planning to move to the
city. I’m looking at properties. You can start
دو
<
your job hunt here. Love, Jake.”
“I love you too,” I whispered.
The wind chimes tinkled, as if in reply.
- 34.
I blocked Mark everywhere. He showed up at
“Old Harbor.” “Can’t we just…forget the past
and start over?” he asked.
“Get the hell out of here, Mark,” I said.
I turned and walked inside. I wanted to stay
trapped in my memories, in my world with Jake,
forever.
As he tried to follow me, I flashed back to that
first meeting with him and Ashley.
Autumn leaves swirled outside. One drifted in,
landing by the bottom drawer of the bookshelf.
<
I rarely touched anything in the shop, wanting
to preserve it. But the leaf felt like a sign. I
opened the drawer.
Inside was a small box. A diamond ring. Jake’s
sister had told me he’d planned to propose
after I graduated.
Epilogue
I’m a student who lives nearby. I discovered
“Old Harbor” while exploring the old streets.
The owner, Sarah, is beautiful. The kind of cool,
mature woman I want to be. She has long, dark
hair and cool eyes. She’s polite, but keeps her
distance. Photos of her and a handsome man
cover the walls. I saw a photo of her at
eighteen, on a rooftop, her face young and
bright, leaning against him, his arm around her
shoulders.
“Is that your boyfriend?” I asked.
She touched the ring on her finger, smiling. “My
husband.”
