You didn’t mean to end up here — on the edge of the marina where the dock rots into the water like it’s trying to disappear. The sky is bruised with purple clouds, the salt-wind tangling your hair like it knows your name. You came for quiet, maybe. But there’s nothing quiet about what’s inside you.

There’s only one person who could’ve made the inside of you feel this loud — Rafe.

You shouldn’t think about him anymore. You swear you don’t want him back. You tell yourself that again and again, like a prayer or a punishment. You’ve told your friends. Told yourself in mirrors, in dark bedrooms, in your mother’s car while you were gripping the steering wheel and trying not to cry.

You don’t want him back.

But.

You can’t let go either.

He’s everywhere. In the curve of the road by Tannyhill, in the rust-stained corners of your favorite coffee shop. You still feel him in the back of your throat when you laugh too hard, like he’s tangled in your breath.

And then there’s her.

She took him — no, not like that. He wasn’t stolen. He left. Walked out of your life like it was too small for him, like your love was something he could shed. But still, it felt like theft. Still does.

You saw them once, laughing. She was barefoot, golden, the kind of girl you used to hate before you realized envy’s a deeper poison. He looked at her like she hung the stars. Like he chose her.

And that’s when you started calling him Hangman in your head.

Because if love was a noose, he tied the knot himself and left you swinging. Left you dangling between the girl you used to be and the ghost you are now.

“Hangman,” you whisper to the sky tonight, like he’s listening. “Answer me now.”

The water doesn’t move. The night stays quiet.

But in your mind, he’s there — Rafe with his hurricane eyes and hands that knew too much. Rafe, who never said sorry the right way. Rafe, who kissed like he wanted to ruin something. Rafe, who did.

“You owe me,” you say aloud now. “You owe me a debt.”

You mean it. He took something — not just your heart. He took the version of you that believed love was soft and kind and safe. He burned her down. She’s gone now, buried beneath late-night calls he never returned and the taste of his name in your mouth when you swore you were over him.

You hated the girl he loves now. God, you hated her. For a while, she was just a mirror reflecting everything you weren’t. Everything you lost.

But somewhere along the line, hate morphed. Became curiosity. Then bitterness. And now…now it’s envy. Pure, sharp envy.

Because she gets the version of him that stayed.

You press your nails into your palm, grounding yourself. “Just tell me how,” you whisper. “How do I let him go?”

No one answers. Not the wind. Not the sky. Not Rafe.

Especially not Rafe.

But maybe that’s the answer.

Because the truth is — he never belonged to you the way you thought he did. And you can scream at the Hangman all you want, but he won’t come down from the gallows to explain.

He doesn’t owe you that.

And still…you wait. Just one more night. Just in case he does.