Memory - Katie's POV

  After Arthur hung up the call, I tried calling back several times. Once. Twice. Five times. Ten times.

  But he never answered.

  Each ring felt like a countdown to something terrible. Each time it went to voicemail, that pit in my stomach grew deeper.

  Which made me realize the severity of the situation. Arthur would never shut me out like that unless he was absolutely certain he didn't want anything to do with me anymore. He'd always answered before, even when we were fighting. Even when he was angry or hurt or frustrated.

  But now? Nothing. Just that cheerful voicemail message that felt like mockery.

  "Hey, you've reached Arthur. I'm probably drawing something or avoiding responsibilities. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. Maybe."

  Maybe. That word echoed in my mind like a death sentence.

  Mom wasn't at home as usual. Off on another business trip, or working late, or whatever excuse she'd given this time. The house felt enormous and empty around me, the walls pressing in despite all the space. Every shadow seemed darker, every corner colder.

  I needed to talk to someone. Maybe get some advice, some perspective on how badly I'd fucked up. So I called my friend Jennie, probably one of the few friends who were actually real and not just people who hung around because of my social status.

  The phone rang three times before she picked up, her voice groggy. "Katie? It's like two in the morning. What's wrong?"

  "Hey Jen, sorry to wake you up." My voice cracked on the last word.

  She was immediately alert. I heard rustling as she sat up in bed. "Hey girl. What happened? You sound terrible. Why are you crying? Boy troubles?"

  I barely managed to reply through the tears. "It's kinda complicated."

  "It's always complicated with you two." But her tone was gentle, concerned. "Talk to me. What did Arthur do?"

  "It's not what he did. It's what I did."

  "Okay, then what did you do?"

  So I told her everything. About Harvard, about pushing Arthur to give up his dreams, about the fight we'd had earlier tonight. About how he'd finally had enough and broken up with me over the phone because I wouldn't listen, wouldn't compromise, wouldn't see that I was destroying him.

  The words poured out in a messy, tear-soaked confession. All the things I'd done wrong, all the ways I'd failed him, all the realizations that were coming too late.

  Jennie listened quietly as I told her everything, and when I finally ran out of words, she said something I wasn't expecting.

  "You're a coward."

  I blinked, stunned. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me. You're being a coward, Katie." Her voice was firm but not unkind. "This guy clearly cares about you. Hell, he loves you. And you obviously care about him, probably love him too. But instead of actually talking to him about your fears and figuring it out together, you're just... avoiding the problem and hoping it goes away by forcing him to do what you want."

  "It's not that simple—"

  "It really is, though." I could almost see her shaking her head. "Either you want to be with him or you don't. If you do, you make it work. You don't need to be together always, Katie. Long distance sucks, but people do it all the time. Millions of people make it work. If you don't want to be with him, then have the guts to actually tell him that instead of forcing him to give up everything he wants."

  She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was sharp with anger. "You didn't need to push your choices on him and break his heart! God, Katie! He is such a nice guy! We all like him, he's genuinely one of the best people I know, and he is the best thing that ever happened to you! Why the hell would you mess it up like this?"

  She wasn't wrong. I knew she wasn't wrong.

  Every word hit like a physical blow because they were all true. I had been a coward. I had been selfish. I had taken someone wonderful and tried to reshape him into what I wanted instead of loving him for who he was.

  "But what if we try long distance and it doesn't work?" I said quietly, voicing the fear that had been driving all my terrible decisions. "What if we end up resenting each other? What if the distance tears us apart and we end up hating each other? What if I'm holding him back from moving on with his life?"

  "What if it does work?" Jennie countered. "What if you're throwing away something amazing, something real and beautiful, because you're too scared to try? Too scared to trust that what you have is strong enough to survive some distance?"

  She sighed. "Look, I don't know everything about Arthur other than from our usual conversations and the stuff you've told me. But from everything I've seen, everything you've said about him over the past two years, he sounds pretty great. Actually, he sounds fucking amazing. Patient and kind and supportive and genuinely in love with you despite all your bullshit."

  "Thanks," I muttered sarcastically.

  "I'm serious, Katie. Don't you think he deserves better than this? Better than being forced to choose between his dreams and you? Better than having his girlfriend tell him his passions don't matter?"

  I stared at my phone, at Arthur's contact photo—a picture I'd taken of him last summer, laughing at something stupid his dad had said. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, his smile genuine and bright, looking at me like I was the best thing in his world.

  When had I stopped looking at him that way? When had his dreams become less important than my plans?

  "You're right," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've been awful. I've been a terrible girlfriend and an even worse person. I need to call him back and make him understand I truly am sorry. That I'll do better, be better. To try again before it's too late."

  "Yes, you better!" Jennie's voice brightened slightly. "Otherwise I'll shoot my shot at him, maybe even pull a Titanic move on him."

  Despite everything, I laughed. It came out wet and broken, but it was a laugh. "You wish! He's mine, and I'm never letting him go. Not without a fight."

  "That's the spirit. But Katie?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Give him some time to sleep it off. Let him process everything. Maybe he'll calm down a bit in the morning, be more willing to hear you out. Don't bombard him with calls and texts right now. Let him breathe."

  "Okay. Okay, you're right. I'll wait until morning."

  "Good. Now try to get some sleep. You'll need a clear head for this conversation."

  "Thanks, Jen. Really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  "Probably make even worse decisions," she said wryly. "Now go. Sleep. Call him tomorrow. Fix this."

  "I will. I promise."

  ****

  I hung up, but sleep was impossible. I spent the entire night tossing and turning, replaying every conversation, every fight, every moment where I could have chosen differently. Should have chosen differently.

  The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. I watched the clock change from 2 AM to 3 AM to 4 AM, each minute feeling like an eternity.

  Finally, after what felt like forever, morning came. I waited until after breakfast—or what passed for breakfast since I couldn't eat anything—to call again.

  My hands were shaking slightly as I pulled up his number and pressed call.

  It rang once. Twice. Three times.

  Then voicemail.

  "Hey, you've reached Arthur. I'm probably drawing something or avoiding responsibilities. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. Maybe."

  Beep.

  I took a shaky breath. "Hey, it's me. I..." I paused, trying to find the right words. How do you apologize for being the worst version of yourself? How do you fix something you've broken so completely?

  "I'm sorry," I finally said. "I'm so, so sorry, Arthur. I've been a terrible girlfriend and you didn't deserve any of that. I was selfish and controlling and I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of being alone, scared of so many things I couldn't even name."

  My voice cracked. "Can we talk? Please? Please call me back when you get this. I..." Tears were flowing freely now. "I love you. And I miss you. And I'm so sorry for everything."

  I hung up and waited.

  Minutes turned into hours. No call back.

  I tried again around noon. Voicemail.

  And again in the afternoon. Voicemail.

  I sent texts too, paragraph after paragraph of apologies and explanations and desperate pleas.

  Arthur, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But please let me try to fix this.

  I was wrong about everything. About Harvard, about your art, about trying to control your life. You deserve to chase your dreams.

  I love you. Please talk to me.

  No response. The messages stayed unread, marked with a single gray checkmark instead of the blue that would mean he'd seen them.

  I didn't want to directly reach out to his parents in case he thought I was emotionally blackmailing him or trying to manipulate him through his family. That would only make things worse.

  But throughout the day, he never called back. Never saw my messages. The silence was deafening.

  I spent another sleepless night, phone clutched in my hand, jumping at every notification only to find it was just spam or some meaningless group chat message.

  Jennie offered to call him, but I refused. "I have to do this myself. This is my mess. I need to be the one to fix it."

  I tried again the next morning before dinner. This time, his phone went straight to voicemail. Not ringing first—just immediately to the automated message.

  Turned off.

  Arthur never turned his phone off. He was always reachable, always available for his family or friends or me. The fact that it was off sent a spike of irrational fear through my chest.

  I don't know why I felt a pit in my stomach, as if something bad had happened. A premonition, maybe. Or just anxiety manifesting as physical symptoms.

  But I ignored it and kept trying throughout the day. Kept calling, kept texting, kept hoping he'd turn his phone back on and give me a chance to apologize properly.

  No answer.

  ****

  By the next evening, that cold feeling of dread had settled permanently in my stomach. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.

  I called his house phone, something I hadn't done in months since we always just used our cells.

  It rang several times before someone picked up.

  "Hello?" Christine's voice, but wrong somehow. Thick and rough like she'd been crying for hours.

  "Hi, Christine. It's Katie." I tried to keep my voice steady. "Is Arthur there? He's not returning my calls. We had a fight the other night, and I wanted to say sorry. Can I please... talk to him?"

  There was a long pause.

  Then I heard her sobbing. The kind of broken sounds that come from losing something precious. It made fear spike through me.

  "Katie, honey..." She could barely get the words out. "You haven't heard?"

  The cold feeling intensified, spreading through my entire body. "Heard what?"

  Another pause. I could hear her struggling to compose herself, hear David's voice in the background saying something I couldn't make out.

  Then Christine's voice came again, thick with tears and barely controlled grief: "There was a car accident. When we were coming back from our camping trip. And..." She was having a hard time speaking, each word seeming to take enormous effort.

  My world tilted sideways. My legs gave out and I slumped down onto the sofa, phone pressed so hard against my ear it hurt.

  "What? Is he okay? Is Arthur—"

  "He didn't make it, sweetheart." The words came out in a rush, like she had to force them out before she broke down completely. "Arthur... he died protecting Dawn. The doctors said he died almost instantly from his injuries. There was a metal rod, and he... he used his body to shield her."

  Her voice broke. "We were so busy with the funeral arrangements and calls coming in from everyone, we forgot to check the phones until this morning. I'm so sorry. I thought someone would have told you by now. I thought one of your friends..."

  The phone slipped from my hand and clattered on the floor.

  This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

  Arthur was fine. He was at home, probably working on some painting or hanging out with his friends or sitting in his backyard drawing birds. He was going to call me back any minute and we'd talk and figure things out and everything would be okay.

  This was just a nightmare. A horrible, vivid nightmare and I'd wake up any second. I slapped myself, hoping I would wake up from this nightmare.

  But I didn't wake up.

  I sat there on my living room floor, staring at nothing, while reality crashed down around me.

  I picked up the phone with shaking hands that didn't feel like my own. "When? When did this happen?"

  "The day before yesterday. Saturday afternoon. We were almost home when..." Christine's voice broke again. "The funeral is tomorrow at two. St. Michael's Church. Katie, I know you and Arthur were having some problems lately, but he loved you. He really did. We all hoped... you kids would have worked it out. He was going to call you when we got home. He told us in the car. Said he needed to talk to you properly, that he'd been too harsh."

  Each word was a knife twisting in my chest.

  "I'm so sorry, honey. I'm so, so sorry."

  I hung up and ran to the bathroom, barely making it before I threw up.

  The day before yesterday. Saturday.

  Almost two days ago.

  My Arthur had died two days ago, and I didn't even know. I'd been so immersed in my apology, in crafting the perfect words to win him back, in planning how I'd fix everything, that I never considered the possibility that I would never have the chance.

  That the last conversation we'd ever have was a fight.

  That the last words he'd ever say to me were goodbye.

  I threw up again, my body trying to purge itself of the grief and guilt and horror that were consuming me from the inside.

  When there was nothing left, I sat on the bathroom floor, shaking uncontrollably.

  He'd died two days ago and I hadn't even known. Hadn't felt it somehow, hadn't sensed that the person I loved most in the world was just... gone.

  The last real conversation we'd had face to face, I'd been annoyed with him. Made him so miserable with my constant berating, with my demands and ultimatums and complete disregard for his feelings, that he didn't even want to break up with me in person.

  He'd called me from that camping trip—the trip that was supposed to be fun and relaxing—to end things because he couldn't take one more moment of me crushing his dreams.

  And when I'd finally realized my mistakes, when I'd finally understood how badly I'd hurt him and wanted to make it right...

  It was already too late.

  Now I'd never get the chance.

  My phone rang. I stared at it numbly, seeing Jennie's name on the screen. She'd wanted to take me out to improve my mood, had sent a text earlier saying she'd pick me up around seven for dinner and a movie.

  I just held the phone in my hand, unable to speak. Unable to do anything but exist in this moment of absolute devastation.

  The ringing stopped. Started again a minute later.

  Then there was knocking on my front door. Persistent knocking that wouldn't stop.

  I don't know how long I sat there before Jennie let herself in with the spare key I'd given her months ago. She found me still on the bathroom floor, still staring at nothing, tears streaming silently down my face.

  "Katie? What happened?" She helped me up carefully, supporting my weight when my legs wouldn't quite work properly. She washed my face with a wet cloth, gentle and careful like I was made of glass that might shatter.

  Then she took me to sit on my bed. "You're scaring me now. What's going on?"

  "He's dead." My voice sounded hollow. Distant. Like it was coming from someone else. "Arthur's dead. Car accident. Two days ago."

  Jennie went completely still. "Oh my God. Katie, I'm so sorry—"

  "I thought I could fix it. I thought I'd call him and apologize and we'd work it out and everything would be okay again."

  I laughed, and it came out broken and wrong. "I was so stupid. I spent two days crafting the perfect apology, trying to find the right words, when I should have just... I should have..."

  I couldn't finish. Couldn't say what I should have done because there were too many things, too many moments where I could have chosen differently.

  Jennie wrapped her arms around me and I fell apart completely, sobbing against her shoulder while she held me and made soothing sounds that didn't help but at least meant I wasn't alone.

  ****

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  I went to the funeral the next day.

  I looked like hell—hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten anything that stayed down, my eyes were so swollen from crying I could barely see. I put on a simple black dress that Arthur had always said looked nice on me and tried to make myself presentable. Failed completely.

  The church was packed. Arthur's family in the front rows, looking absolutely destroyed. His friends scattered throughout, many of them crying openly. People from school who I recognized but couldn't name through the fog in my mind. Neighbors. Teachers. Coworkers from the part-time job he'd had at the art supply store.

  Everyone whose life he'd touched in his short eighteen years.

  Even Tony and his gang were there in dark suits, looking genuinely grief-stricken. Arthur had made up with them during our relationship, had helped them with homework and school projects, had somehow turned bullies into friends because that's just who he was. Always seeing the best in people, always giving second chances.

  Just goes to show how genuinely nice he was. And what a complete bitch I'd been to him.

  I sat in the very back, not wanting to intrude on family, not deserving to be there after how I'd treated him in his final weeks. After I'd made his last days miserable with my selfishness and controlling behavior.

  The service was beautiful and heartbreaking. It was an open casket service. But I was to scared to see him again. Maybe I thought if I didn't see his dead body, it will all become false. Or maybe I knew, if I saw him, I would probably just pass out right there from grief and guilt.

  Arthur's dad gave a eulogy that had everyone in tears. His voice kept breaking as he talked about his son's kindness, his creativity, his selfless nature. How Arthur had always put others first, had always tried to make people smile, had always seen beauty in things others overlooked.

  "He loved art," David said, voice thick with emotion. "Not because he wanted to be famous or make money, but because he loved creating beauty. Loved capturing moments and emotions and making them permanent. He saw the world differently than most of us, and he tried so hard to share that vision."

  He paused, visibly struggling. "And in his last moments, Arthur was exactly who we raised him to be. When that metal rod came through the car, he didn't think about himself. Didn't try to save himself. He grabbed his little sister and held that rod away from her with his bare hands until it... until..."

  David couldn't continue. He stood there at the podium, shoulders shaking with silent sobs while Christine came up and put her arm around him.

  "That was just who Arthur was," David finally managed. "He'd give everything for the people he loved. Even his life. Our boy... our beautiful boy..."

  He couldn't say anymore. They helped him back to his seat while the pastor took over, saying something about God's plan and heaven and finding comfort in faith.

  I wasn't listening. I was watching Dawn—Arthur's precious little sister—sitting between her parents. She was so small, so young, clutching a teddy bear that Arthur had won for her at a fair last year. Her usual bright, bubbly personality was completely gone. She just sat there quietly, tears streaming down her face, looking so lost and broken.

  She was alive because Arthur had died protecting her.

  I wondered if she understood that. If she felt guilty for surviving when her big brother hadn't. If she blamed herself the way I blamed myself.

  After the service, during the reception in the church basement, I finally worked up the courage to approach his parents.

  Christine saw me first. Her face crumpled and she pulled me into a tight hug, nearly crushing me with the force of it.

  "Katie. Oh, sweetheart. I'm so glad you came. Arthur would have wanted you here."

  "I'm so sorry," I choked out. The words were completely inadequate but they were all I had. "I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't—if we hadn't fought—if I'd just—"

  "Shh, it's okay. It's not your fault, honey." She pulled back to look at me, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "It was an accident. A terrible accident. You couldn't have known. None of us could have known."

  But it felt like my fault. Felt like if I'd just been less stubborn, if I'd listened, if I'd supported him instead of trying to control him, he wouldn't have been on that trip. Wouldn't have been in that car. Would still be here.

  David hugged me too, his embrace gentler but no less devastated. "Arthur loved you very much, Katie. Even at the end, he..."

  He paused, reaching into his jacket pocket. His hands were shaking as he pulled something out. "We found this in his wallet. It survived the accident somehow. I think he'd want you to have it."

  It was a photo. Worn at the edges from being carried around, slightly creased but still clear.

  The two of us from last summer, at the lake where his family had taken me for a weekend trip. Arthur was making a ridiculous face, eyes crossed and tongue sticking out, trying to make me laugh while I took the selfie. I was mid-laugh in the picture, my head thrown back, looking at him with pure joy and love.

  We both looked so happy. So young and carefree and completely unaware that we had less than a year left together.

  On the back, in Arthur's careful handwriting: "Katie and me. Best day ever. Love you forever."

  Forever.

  Such a cruel word now.

  I clutched the photo to my chest and cried harder than I'd ever cried in my life. Sobbed so hard I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel the overwhelming weight of grief and regret crushing me.

  Christine held me while I fell apart, murmuring soothing things I couldn't hear over the sound of my own broken heart.

  When I finally calmed down enough to see, I noticed Dawn standing nearby. She was watching me with those big blue eyes that looked so much like Arthur's, hesitant and uncertain.

  I knelt down and opened my arms. She ran into them immediately, and we cried together—this little girl who'd lost her big brother and me, who'd lost the love of my life through my own stupidity.

  "Katie," Dawn whispered against my shoulder. "Artie said he would always be watching over me, like a star. Just before... before..." She couldn't say it. "I don't want to cry and make him sad. Is he watching? Can he see us?"

  I didn't know the answer. Didn't know if there was anything after death, if Arthur's soul was somewhere looking down, if he could see how devastated we all were.

  But I hoped he was watching. Hoped he knew that despite everything, despite all my mistakes and selfishness, I had loved him. Still loved him. Would always love him.

  "I think he is," I told Dawn, smoothing her hair back from her tear-stained face. "And I don't think he'd be sad that you're crying. He'd understand. He'd want you to let it out."

  "Do you think he's mad at me? For being alive when he's not?"

  My heart broke all over again. "No, sweetie. Never. He loved you so much. He'd be so happy you're safe. That's all he wanted."

  She nodded against my shoulder, and we stayed like that for a long time.

  ****

  The weeks after the funeral were a complete blur.

  I spent almost all my time at the Morgan house. My own home felt too empty, too cold, too full of memories of Arthur coming to pick me up for dates or studying together at the kitchen table or just existing in my space.

  His family welcomed me, seemed to need me there as much as I needed them. We grieved together, supported each other, shared stories about Arthur that made us laugh and cry in equal measure.

  Even my mom showed unexpected emotion. She came home early from her business trip when she heard the news, and actually hugged me for the first time in years.

  "Take all the time you need," she'd said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "School can wait. Everything can wait. Even if you took a year off from studying, I would understand. Your mental health is more important."

  It was probably the most motherly thing she'd ever said to me. Under different circumstances, I might have been moved. Instead, I just felt numb.

  But Christine was not having it when I mentioned maybe not going to Harvard at all.

  She pulled me aside one day about three weeks after the funeral. We were in her kitchen, the room that always smelled like fresh cookies and coffee, and she took my hands in hers with gentle firmness.

  "Honey, you are like a daughter to me. You know that, right?"

  I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

  "I know how much Arthur's death has affected all of us. God knows it's destroyed us. Some days I can barely get out of bed. I keep expecting to hear him come down the stairs for breakfast, or find him drawing at the kitchen table, or..."

  She took a shaky breath. "But I don't want you to give up on your dreams because of this. Arthur wouldn't want that either."

  "But my dreams are what pushed him away," I said bitterly. "He died thinking he'd wasted two years and his love on a spoiled, entitled bitch who didn't give a damn about his dreams! How can I just go to Harvard and pretend that's okay?"

  Christine's expression was fierce. "You stop that right now. You are not a bitch, spoiled or otherwise. You're a young girl who made mistakes. We all make mistakes, Katie. Every single one of us. The difference is you realized yours and were willing to apologize. That makes you a good person who messed up, not a bad person."

  She pulled me into a hug. "Please, honey. Be happy. Live your life. Follow your dreams. Arthur would have wanted that for you. You know he would have. He loved you too much, and he'd be heartbroken to see you throwing away your future because of guilt."

  "I don't know if I can," I whispered.

  "You can. And you will. Because you're strong, and because Arthur believed in you even when you didn't believe in yourself."

  She pulled back to look me in the eyes. "Just remember him. Remember us. We will always be your family, no matter what. But you need to live, Katie. For yourself, and for him."

  I sobbed against her shoulder, letting her maternal comfort wash over me. "I'll try. I promise I'll try."

  "That's all we ask."

  ****

  I went to Harvard a few weeks later, though every part of me screamed to stay.

  The whole family came to see me off at the bus station with Mom. Christine had packed me enough food for a week, insisting I needed to eat properly. David gave me his card and told me to call if I needed anything, and he meant anything.

  Mom hugged me and told me to call her if it becomes too much. That she will make time for me anytime.

  Dawn held onto me so tight I could barely breathe, making me promise to call her every single day. We pinky promised, linking our smallest fingers together with a solemnity that would have been adorable under different circumstances.

  "You have to tell me about college," Dawn said seriously. "And about Boston. And you have to send me pictures of everything. Artie would want to know you're doing okay."

  For a moment, surrounded by this family who'd adopted me as one of their own, I thought maybe I could do this. Maybe I could move forward while carrying Arthur's memory with me.

  But as the days went by in Cambridge, I realized how wrong I'd been.

  I couldn't focus. Couldn't study, couldn't participate in class discussions, couldn't force myself to care about torts or constitutional law or any of the things that had once seemed so important.

  My roommate, a girl named Rachel from Connecticut, tried to be understanding at first. But after a few weeks of me coming back to the dorm at odd hours, crying myself to sleep, and generally being a terrible roommate, she requested a transfer.

  I didn't blame her.

  I'd walk through Harvard Yard and think about how Arthur should be here with me. How we should be exploring Boston together, finding cheap restaurants and quirky art galleries, making this adventure ours.

  But he wasn't here. Would never be here.

  About all the things I'd never said. All the apologies I'd never been able to give. All the conversations we'd never have. All the future we'd planned that would never exist.

  I'd been so focused on my dreams, on what I wanted for my future, that I'd pushed him away. Made him feel like he wasn't important enough, like his passions didn't matter, like he was just an inconvenience to my carefully planned life.

  And now he was gone, and I'd never get the chance to tell him how wrong I'd been.

  Six months after the funeral, I dropped out of Harvard.

  Everyone thought I was crazy.

  My dad—who I'd barely spoken to since the divorce years ago, was absolutely furious. He called me screaming about throwing away opportunities, about being weak, about dishonoring his efforts by quitting. I guess he was mad about the tution he paid.

  I hung up on him.

  But surprisingly, my mom actually supported me for once in my life.

  "Come home and recover for as long as you need," she'd said, her voice gentle in a way I'd never heard before. "Your mental health is more important than any degree. Arthur wouldn't want you to destroy yourself over this."

  My academic advisors tried desperately to convince me to take a leave of absence instead. That I was just grieving, making rash decisions, that I'd regret dropping out once I'd had time to process everything.

  But I knew the truth.

  I'd chosen Harvard over Arthur. Chosen my ambitions and my plans and my stupid pride over the person who'd loved me unconditionally. And now I'd never get him back, never get the chance to tell him I was sorry, that I'd been selfish and stupid and cruel.

  Harvard didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered.

  What was the point of achieving my dreams when the person who'd made me believe I could achieve them was gone?

  I went back to Minnesota and enrolled in a local college. Nothing prestigious, just a decent state school where I could study at my own pace without the pressure and expectations.

  I mostly avoided everyone who'd known me before, the people who'd watched my relationship with Arthur with judgment or curiosity or envy.

  I couldn't face them. Couldn't handle their pity or their questions or their carefully neutral expressions that said they thought I was crazy for throwing everything away.

  Every night, I would go to the cemetery and sit by Arthur's grave. It was in a quiet corner under a large oak tree, the kind of spot he would have loved for sketching or reading.

  I'd sit there in the grass, sometimes for hours, just talking to him like he could hear me.

  "I'm sorry," I'd say over and over, the words like a prayer or a penance. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I made you feel like you didn't matter, like your dreams were less important than mine. You did matter. You mattered more than anything in my life, and I was too stupid and scared to see it until it was too late."

  I'd tell him about my day, about the classes I was taking, about how Dawn was doing in school, about how his parents were coping.

  I'd apologize for things I'd done, for fights we'd had, for every time I'd dismissed something he cared about.

  The photo from his wallet stayed in my pocket always, growing more worn and creased from constant handling. I'd look at it dozens of times a day, memorizing every detail of his face—the exact shade of his eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the dimple that appeared when he smiled widely.

  I was terrified I'd forget. Terrified that time would blur the specifics, that his face would become less clear in my memory, that I'd lose him all over again.

  Six months passed. Then a year. Then five years. Then ten.

  I somehow finished college, got a decent job working for an international company that eventually transferred me to Europe. Paris first, then London, then back to Paris.

  The Morgans all convinced me that I should move on, that it was time to live for myself. Even Dawn, now eighteen and heading to college herself, told me that Arthur would have wanted to see me follow my dreams and be happy.

  "He loved you so much, Katie," she'd said during one of our video calls. "And he'd be so sad to see you still stuck in the past. You're allowed to move forward. You're allowed to be happy again."

  So I tried, for their sake. Threw myself into my work, traveled extensively, Tried making new friends who were nice enough, but who I could never quite connect with the way I'd connected with Arthur. I didn't date again. How could I when I was still stuck on him.

  But the memories never went away. The guilt never faded. The sense that I was living a life I didn't deserve because I'd destroyed the one that mattered.

  I was walking home from work one evening in Paris, lost in thought about a project deadline, when I stepped into the street without looking.

  I'd done it a thousand times before, Parisians weren't exactly known for their pedestrian safety, but this time there was a truck.

  A massive delivery truck running a red light, horn blaring, headlights blinding in the evening gloom.

  I didn't have time to move. Didn't even have time to feel afraid.

  The impact was instant and crushing.

  I felt bones break—my ribs caving in, my legs snapping like twigs. Felt my body ragdoll across the pavement, tumbling and sliding until I came to rest in the gutter. Felt warm blood pooling beneath me, flowing faster than seemed possible.

  People were screaming. Running toward me. Someone was calling for an ambulance in rapid French I couldn't quite process.

  But all I felt was relief.

  In my fading consciousness, as my vision darkened at the edges and breathing became impossible, my last thought was of Arthur.

  Maybe now I'd get to see him again.

  Maybe now I could tell him I was sorry.

  Maybe now, finally, I could make things right.

  I expected nothing after death. Void. Darkness. Just... ending. Or maybe paradise if I was lucky, where I would get to meet Arthur again and beg his forgiveness.

  But instead, I found myself in a vast space.

  It was impossible to describe properly—both infinitely large and impossibly close, filled with colors that didn't exist and sounds that weren't quite sounds. The air felt thick and heavy, pressing against me from all sides.

  And in the center of this impossible space stood a being.

  It wore tattered yellow robes that seemed to shift and move even though there was no wind. A mask covered its face—or maybe the mask was its face—pale and expressionless but somehow conveying amusement.

  Terror should have been my first reaction. This thing was clearly not human, not anything I could comprehend with my mortal mind.

  But instead, all I felt was that same desperate hope I'd been carrying for years.

  The being tilted its head, studying me with eyes I couldn't quite see. Then it spoke, and its voice was like wind through dead leaves, like the whisper of forgotten things.

  "Do you wish to see him again? The man you loved?"

  I didn't even hesitate. Didn't question how this thing knew about Arthur, didn't wonder what the catch might be. "Yes. Even if it means giving up everything. Even if it means suffering for eternity. I just want the chance to tell him I'm sorry. Maybe try again."

  The being made a sound that might have been a chuckle, dry and rustling. "You humans never cease to amaze me. So desperate for second chances, so willing to sacrifice everything for the possibility of redemption."

  It circled around me, the yellow robes dragging across the ground that wasn't quite ground. "I won't guarantee anything, you understand. The cosmos is vast and unpredictable. But I will offer you a chance."

  "What kind of chance?"

  "To find him again. To see him again. Maybe someday you will meet him, or maybe you won't. It might take decades, centuries, or eons. The path will not be easy, and the destination is uncertain."

  The being stopped in front of me. "Are you willing to suffer an eternity of searching for the sake of one person? To wait and hope and possibly never succeed?"

  I looked up at this incomprehensible thing and smiled through my tears. "I will take even the smallest of chances. I owe it to him. I owe him everything."

  The being nodded, seeming pleased. "Very well. I will give you a resonance—a connection that transcends form and memory. He might look different when you find him, might be an entirely different person. But your powers will always resonate with each other. You will recognize him when you meet him again, no matter how much time has passed or how much he's changed."

  It raised a hand, and I felt something settle into my very soul. A warmth, a connection, a invisible thread leading somewhere I couldn't see.

  "I wish you all the best, child. May your love prove strong enough to transcend time and space itself."

  I asked carefully, desperate for any information, "Do you... know where he is? Can't you just send me to where he is? Please, I need to find him."

  The being paused, and I could feel amusement radiating from it. "Indeed, I know many things. But that doesn't feel right, does it? Where's the poetry in simply reuniting you? I wish to see if your love is so true and pure that fate itself will bring you together, even across the omniverse."

  It tilted its head again. "Don't you think that's more interesting? More meaningful? If you find each other not because some cosmic being arranged it, but because your souls are drawn together by something deeper than space or time?"

  Before I could respond, before I could beg or argue or negotiate, I felt myself being pulled away from that impossible space.

  The being's last words echoed around me: "Good luck, Katie. I have a feeling you'll need it."

  ****

  I woke up in another world.

  But not as Katie anymore.

  I was someone else. Something else.

  A goddess. The Evernight Goddess. Amanises.

  I had all her memories flooding into me—thousands of years of divine existence, wars between gods, the rise and fall of civilizations, the weight of worship and responsibility and power beyond human comprehension.

  I was her in every way that mattered. Her personality, her knowledge, her divine authority over night and darkness and dreams.

  Except I also remembered being Katie. Remembered Arthur. Remembered loving and losing him.

  The memories coexisted strangely, overlapping and contradicting. I was a goddess who'd existed for epochs, who'd witnessed things mortals couldn't imagine, who'd become cold and calculating and detached from human concerns.

  But I was also an eighteen-year-old girl who'd fucked up her relationship and lost the boy she loved and never gotten the chance to make it right.

  The divine memories tried to suppress the human ones. Tried to push them down, make them insignificant compared to the vast weight of divine existence.

  I could feel it happening—Katie's memories growing fuzzy around the edges, Arthur's face becoming less clear, the sharp pain of loss fading into something distant and manageable.

  But I fought it. Fought with everything I had to cling to those memories, to keep Arthur alive in my mind.

  I wouldn't forget him. I refused to forget him.

  Even as centuries passed in my new existence. Even as I took up my role as one of the Seven Orthodox Gods, managing my church and believers and divine responsibilities. Even as I became everything a goddess needed to be—cold, distant, mysterious, powerful.

  I kept painting his face. Over and over, desperately trying to capture what I remembered before the memories faded completely.

  I kept looking for him. Searching the faces of every reincarnator who appeared in my world, hoping one of them might be Arthur returned.

  I kept hoping that maybe, somehow, he'd been reincarnated too. That the being in yellow had given him a second chance as well.

  Years became decades. Decades became centuries. I participated in divine conflicts, maintained my church, played the political games gods played with each other.

  But underneath it all, I was still just Katie, waiting for Arthur to come home.

  And then one day, I felt it.

  A stirring in the cosmos. Something new and vast and powerful emerging from the void between worlds.

  A true Outer God. Something that existed beyond even divine comprehension, operating on principles that made gods seem small and limited by comparison.

  I felt it reaching toward my world, felt it brushing against the 23rd pathway—The Eternal Night. It felt strangely familiar to my own pathway.

  And it resonated.

  That connection the being had given me blazed to life, singing in my soul with recognition and certainty.

  The 23rd pathway shouldn't exist. I was the goddess of night, and my authority came from the pathway of darkness and mystery and secrets.

  But this new pathway resonated with my power in ways that shouldn't be possible. As if they were two halves of a whole, separated by cosmic distances but still fundamentally connected.

  And I knew.

  Arthur was back.

  He'd become something vast and incomprehensible, something that existed beyond normal reality. An Outer God whose very existence defied categorization.

  But it was him. I was certain.

  That resonance, that connection—it was unmistakable.

  I tried to contact him immediately. Sent prayers and divine messages, attempted to peer into his pathway with my authority.

  He ignored me.

  Every single time.

  I couldn't tell if he didn't remember being Arthur, or if he simply didn't want anything to do with a goddess he didn't know.

  But I didn't give up. Couldn't give up.

  I'd failed him once. I wouldn't fail him again.

  So I waited. Kept painting his face, kept hoping, kept trying to reach him across the cosmic distances that separated us.

  I couldn't let him leave again. Not without at least trying to talk to him, to see if any part of Arthur remained in this vast cosmic being he'd become.

  Then finally, one day, one of my followers died. Klein Moretti, a fellow reincarnator from another world who'd been playing a dangerous game with fate itself.

  I didn't pay much attention at first. Mortals died all the time, even the interesting ones.

  Until I felt it.

  A violent tear in my world's barrier. Reality itself being ripped open by something impossibly powerful forcing its way through.

  And then I felt his presence.

  My Arthur was here. In my world. Actually physically present rather than just a distant resonance across the cosmos.

  I left my barren realm immediately, manifesting in the mortal world with a speed that probably alarmed my angels.

  I found him sitting peacefully in the town square of Tingen City, apparently lost in deep thought. Just sitting there on a bench like a normal person, watching the world go by.

  He looked different. Of course he did—this wasn't Arthur's teenage body. This was the form of an Outer God, beautiful and terrible and otherworldly in ways that made mortals instinctively avoid looking directly at him.

  But I would know him anywhere.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart (did goddesses have hearts? Mine certainly felt like it was pounding), and walked toward him.

  This was it. After thousands of years, after endless waiting and hoping and painting his face over and over so I wouldn't forget.

  I was finally going to talk to him again.

  I spoke with hope for the first time in my existence, "Hello... Arthur."

  The memories shattered like pieces of glass, fragmenting and dissolving as reality reasserted itself.

  ****

  With a gasp that felt like drowning and breathing for the first time simultaneously, I found myself back in my castle. Still sitting in my room surrounded by paintings of Arthur, our foreheads still pressed together.

  Tears were falling down my face—had been falling this entire time, I realized. Streaming endlessly as I'd relived every moment of grief and regret and desperate hope.

  I whispered, my voice broken and raw, "That's my story, Arthur. Thank you for listening. Thank you for giving me this chance to finally share all the things I've been carrying alone."

  He pulled back slightly, and I could see his expression. He looked pained, maybe at a loss for what to say. But that serene expression never quite changed, the calm acceptance of an Outer God who'd seen countless tragedies across infinite realities.

  "Thank you, Katie," he said quietly. "For sharing this with me. For trusting me with something so personal and painful."

  He paused, and I held my breath.

  "Even though I am unable feel what you might feel, I... forgive you."

  Just three simple words.

  But they hit me like a tidal wave, washing away thousands of years of guilt and grief and desperate hoping.

  I didn't reply. Couldn't reply. Just sat there staring at his face through my tears.

  And I wondered, not for the first time, 'How can someone be so beautiful?'

  Not physically beautiful, though he was that too in this otherworldly way that made my divine heart ache.

  But beautiful in spirit. Beautiful in his capacity for forgiveness, for understanding, for offering peace to someone who didn't deserve it.

  I'd spent millennia painting his face, trying to capture what I remembered.

  But I realized now that I'd never quite gotten it right. Had never quite captured this—the gentleness in his eyes, the kindness in his expression, the way he looked at me not with pity or disgust but with genuine compassion.

  Arthur had always been beautiful like this. And somehow, even transformed into something cosmic and incomprehensible, that essential beauty remained.

  I reached out with a shaking hand and touched his face, half-expecting him to pull away.

  He didn't.

  "Thank you," I whispered again. "Thank you, Arthur. For everything. For listening. For forgiving. For existing."

  And for the first time in thousands of years, I felt something like peace.