The contents of her life were packed away in a suitcase by the door. At 34 years old, this was all she had to show for it. She thought this place would stick, thought there was room for her here. But she was wrong. She let herself be wrong. Sure, she'd left dozens of times before but it never crushed her like this. Usually she would scan the room one last time, visit her favorite spots, say goodbye to the few people she let herself like. But doing that this time would crush her and would taint the memories that she needed to keep pure and whole. The boardwalk with funnel cake sugar coating them like snow from the windy day. The creek where she twisted her ankle and he carried her the whole way home. His room, where his fingers released her shirt buttons. Where his calloused hand grazed the softness of her inner thigh. Where they lost all sense of time. Where she ruined everything.

On the way out, she left the book by the door knowing he'd come looking for her here. Leaving this book would not only help him understand that she was not coming back, it would also tear out the last pieces of her heart and let her move forward. It served its purpose by bringing her to him. She had no use for it now as he had no use for her. And with the final click of the latch on the door, she was gone.