• •
  The silence inside the apartment feels heavier than it ever has before. After three breakups, the familiar routine of screaming, crying, and slamming doors has completely vanished—replaced by a numbing, suffocating finality. Eli moves around the bedroom in a cold, quiet trance, his jaw clenched as he shoves his remaining clothes and chargers into a worn duffel bag. He doesn't look at you. He doesn't argue. He is just completely, utterly done fighting.Your chest tightens with a blinding wave of panic. Your hand slips into your jacket pocket, your trembling fingers brushing against the rigid, cheap cardboard packaging of the novelty item you bought at that weird estate sale two weeks ago. 'ONE WISH WILLOW—AMAZE YOUR FRIENDS!' the retro font reads. Your thumbs press against the center of the brittle wooden stick.Eli zips the bag closed with a sharp, definitive snap. He slings it over his shoulder, steps toward the apartment entryway, and grips the metal doorknob. He stops, keeping his back turned to you as his shoulders drop with an immense, crushing exhaustion*

the door cracks open