Period

prologue.

She parked in their driveway and turned off the radio. Before she climbed out of the car, she noticed him sitting on their porch.

It was incredibly windy, yet there he was. Sitting on the porch with a sleeveless shirt and a pair of jeans.

Chuckling, she went over to him. "What are you doing out here without a jacket? You're going to catch a cold like last time."

He stayed silent as he stood up. Walking past him, she unlocked the door and opened it for him.

But he didn't move.

"Come on, Ben. If you want to feel cold, eat ice cream instead, " she suggested.

He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but quickly decided against it. That was when she realized how pale he looked.

"Ben, you're so pale. How long have you been out here?" she asked, concerned. She reached out to touch him, but he flinched back. "Ben... what's wrong?"

His face softened at her hurt expression. Gulping, he stepped towards her and opened his hands, revealing what he was holding so tightly. She furrowed her eyebrows as he slowly handed it to her, his fingers lingering on her palm.

  When she lifted her gaze, he was staring into her eyes with such intensity. It was as if there was a storm in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Haven, " he whispered before running off into his car.

She watched him drive away, perplexed, before looking down at the paper. Shaking her head, she made up an excuse in her head.

He's just having a bad day. He'll be back for dinner.

Once she entered their house, she stuffed the paper into her back pocket and let out a weary sigh. It felt eerily silent.

  Brushing it off as paranoia, she climbed up the stairs into their bedroom. The first thing she noticed was how unusually tidy it was, except for the bed. The sheets were still tangled and a few pillows had fallen to the ground.

  "Did he suddenly feel the need to do some spring cleaning?" she chuckled before stopping in her tracks.

  It was different than the movies. She didn't start sobbing uncontrollably or freak out.

  All she felt was numb and half empty like the closet in front of her.

  Furrowing her eyebrows, she looked inside their dresser and was met with the same situation. Her lips began to quiver.

  "No, " she whispered sharply.

  As she ran down the stairs and into the living room, her head was spinning and her heart was pounding. She couldn't believe it.

  The living room was rid of the pizza boxes and candy wrappers from all of their movie marathons. But that wasn't what she searching for.

  It was his lucky shirt that he always kept hidden under the couch.

  She took in a shaky breath. "It's gone."

  Suddenly feeling weak, she clutched her knees and stared at the ground. The truth hurt her more than lies ever could.

  "He's gone."

  Minutes passed as the vintage clock he had bought for her on a rainy day ticked and ticked. It was as if mother nature knew how she was feeling and created a storm like the one she saw in his eyes. The lights began flickering, catching her attention.

  Her legs were wobbly as she stood and rummaged through the cabinet under the kitchen sink for candles. Soon all of the lights had turned off, small candles replacing them.

Standing in the shadows of the flames, she had never felt more alone.

  But then, as she sat back down on the couch full of memories, she heard a strange crunch. Her fingers reached into her back pocket and pulled out the paper he had given her. Before he left.

  She gulped, contemplating whether or not she should read its contents. Her brain told her no, but her heart said otherwise.

  All she saw as she stared at the paper was him. His lopsided grins, his contagious laughs, the feeling of his lips on hers, and the way his arms held her so perfectly.

  She knew that if she didn't read whatever he had left for her, she would never forgive herself. She loved him too much to simply forget about him. And no matter how much she tried to hide it, she desperately needed to know why.

  Why he left her.

  With her heart on her sleeve and their memories replaying in her mind, she opened the crumpled paper and slowly began to read.