Chapter 5: The Last Goodbye

I was young, and being young means being clueless, and clueless means you think you can do anything.

I really believed I’d never walk away from Brandon.

But now? I’m breaking my own promise.

I’m not some hero. I overestimated myself. I don’t have that kind of courage anymore.

I’m tired of watching him collect girls like baseball cards.

Tired of dealing with a new crisis every day.

Tired of loving someone who never loved me back, like yelling into a canyon and only hearing your own echo.

Tired of Brandon. He’s like a black hole, sucking all the energy out of me.

Tired of his self-destruction.

He lives in the past, like he’s the only one left.

If he wants to rot, let him.

So I finally said: “Brandon, let’s break up.”

He just stood there, stiff. After a long pause, he finally said, totally flat: “I promised your sister I’d always take care of you.”

Our breakup shocked everyone. Even my advisor heard and sent a message: “Sometimes you have to break things down to build something new. Great loss, great gain.”

But Mariah’s reaction was the wildest. She’d nagged me nonstop when I was with Brandon, but when we actually broke up, she was ready to fight. “Was it that basic Aubrey? She win? I swear, I’m gonna trash-talk both of them.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

I’d thought about breaking up so many times, but never said it. This time, after I did, it wasn’t as sad as I’d expected. Sure, there was regret and some sighs, but mostly, there was relief.

I finally let go.

I didn’t have to care about who he was seeing, where he went, if he was drinking again, playing games all night, or skipping class.

I should’ve felt free.

But the connection between us was just… too tangled up.

Next time I saw someone from his orbit, it was Aubrey.

She didn’t have that smug, confident vibe anymore. She just stood there, pale, eyes big and watery, kind of desperate. “You and Brandon broke up, so why doesn’t he want me?”

I didn’t know what to say.

She begged, “You’re the only one who was with him so long. Please—how do I stay by his side a little longer?”

See, real love can wreck you.

It makes the proud humble, the shy bold, the strong timid, the player insecure—it turns you into someone else.

I felt bad for Aubrey, but honestly? There was nothing I could do.

A week after the breakup, Brandon showed up.

He was waiting outside my dorm, holding a fancy dessert box, looking at me as he handed it over. He was all blank-faced, voice neutral: “For you.”

I glanced at the box—it was from that new dessert place by campus, the one with the five-hour line. I’d griped about it once, then forgot.

But of course, he remembered. He’d promised my sister he’d always take care of me.

Fulfilling every wish was just another part of the job—even if we weren’t together anymore.

I sighed to myself, then looked up at him.

After just a few days, he looked thinner. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by something tired and distant, like he was right in front of me but still out of reach.

I didn’t play it cute. Just took the dessert. He didn’t move, just stood there, finally asking, “You’re heading abroad?”

Didn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah.” He nodded, said, “Let me know when you book your ticket. I’ll see you off.”

I nodded back.

He looked at me, then turned and walked away.

I watched him go until he disappeared down the path, where a girl was waiting.

When he reached her, she grabbed his arm, then turned and stared at me from a distance before finally turning away.

I couldn’t tell from here if she had that same something—my sister’s shadow.

I just felt tired, and weirdly resigned.

I looked at the dessert in my hand and just started laughing.

It sounded hollow—even to me.

The last time I saw Brandon before leaving was on my sister’s memorial day.

She was buried on a green hillside, with a little stream and wildflowers everywhere. When I brought her favorite lilies, I saw someone had already left a fresh bouquet—still dewy.

I sat in front of her grave, looking at her smile in the old photo. She was so gentle, gone at twenty-three. Now I was twenty-three, but she’d always be twenty-three.

I smiled, leaned my head against the stone, and said:

“Natalie, this might be the last time I call you my big sister. Next year, I’ll be older than you—should I call you little sis?”

“Just kidding. Don’t get mad.”