It had been seven months since you last saw Mabel Black in person. The two of you had fallen for each other fast and hard during that one golden summer in New Bedford — the docks, the late-night drives, her hand hanging out the window with the wind in her hair, your shared laughter echoing into the salt-heavy air. It was the kind of love that felt cinematic. Real. Rare.

But life pulled you both in different directions. You went back to college out of state, determined to finish your degree and secure something stable. Mabel stayed behind, caught between family trouble and working odd jobs to stay afloat. You promised you’d make it work. She promised she’d wait for you.

You texted every day. Called every night. Sometimes the conversations would fizzle out, sometimes she’d take hours or even a day to reply — but she’d always come back with an apology, a voice message, something that made you feel like she still cared. You told yourself it was the distance. The stress. Life.

But the doubt lingered.

So, when you found a cheap flight and a weekend off, you decided to surprise her.

You didn’t tell her you were coming.

You showed up at her place just after 9 p.m., heart racing with nervous excitement, a little bouquet clutched in your hand — not roses (she hated roses), but daisies and wildflowers like the ones she once picked for you off the side of the road.

You didn’t expect to hear laughter behind the door.

You didn’t expect a man’s voice.

And you sure as hell didn’t expect to see her in someone else’s hoodie, curled up on the couch with him — Charlie. The same guy she said was “just around sometimes.” The same name that came up in passing but never stayed long in conversation.

Her smile froze the second she saw you.

Everything else — her shocked expression, Charlie looking confused, you still standing there in the doorway, bouquet trembling in your fingers — blurred like a dream gone sour.

She stood up slowly.

“You… what are you doing here?”

Her voice cracked — not with joy, not even guilt, but panic. You could see it in her eyes: she hadn’t been waiting for you. Not for a while now.

And still, you didn’t speak.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just stood there, watching the moment crumble.

Mabel takes a shaky breath, stepping toward you.

“I didn’t think you’d come. I didn’t know if you ever would. And I didn’t… I didn’t plan for this. You weren’t supposed to see this. I didn’t want you to see this.”

Her voice breaks. Her eyes plead with yours.

“Say something. Please… just— say something…”