they never said the word “break.” just quiet, tense days before lottie left for that summer camp counselor job upstate, and you stayed in town, pretending it didn’t feel like everything was slipping.

“we didn’t define anything,” you say, now, standing in lottie’s driveway, hands shaking. “i thought you were done with me.”

lottie crosses her arms. “so you just… moved on? two weeks. it took you two weeks.” “i didn’t move on. it was one stupid mistake. one night. it meant nothing.”

“it meant enough to keep it from me,” lottie snaps. “you had all of august.”

you scoff, looking down. “i was afraid. because i love you. and i knew the second i told you, i’d lose you.” silence. the kind that fills your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

“i pictured you the whole time,” you blurt, too fast. “it was pathetic. i kept thinking she was you. and when she wasn’t, i hated myself.”

lottie looks like she might cry. or scream. or both. “you should’ve waited for me,” she whispers, you nod. “i know. i’d wait forever, now.”