Remember You

Eli leaves without slamming the door.

That might be the worst part.

Vivienne stands in the middle of the apartment long after the sound of his boots fades down the hallway, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, the distant traffic, the ache settling into her chest like it plans to stay awhile. His coffee mug is still on the counter. His jacket is still hooked over the chair like he might come back for it.

He doesn’t.

She doesn’t cry right away. She sits on the edge of the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the place where he stood a minute ago, hands in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes too careful. He’d kissed her forehead like a habit. Like muscle memory. Like love with nowhere to land.

Vivienne doesn’t go to work. She doesn’t call anyone. She grabs her keys, pulls on sunglasses that are too big for her face, and leaves the apartment like she’s afraid the walls might start asking questions.

The cemetery is quiet in the way that feels intentional, curated. The gravel crunches beneath her boots as she walks past rows of names that belong to people who were once everything to someone. She stops in front of her mother’s grave and exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.

“Hi, Mom,” she says, voice cracking immediately. Figures.

She sits cross-legged on the grass, fingers tracing the edge of the headstone. The stone is cool, steady, more grounded than she feels.

“I messed up,” she starts, then shakes her head. “No. I don’t know. Maybe we both did.”

She tells her about Eli leaving. About how it wasn’t a fight, not really. Just two people standing in the wreckage of a love they didn’t know how to save without destroying themselves. She talks about the silence after he walked out, how loud it was, how it felt like the world had finally decided to stop pretending everything was fine.

Then the words start spilling faster.

“I’m trying, Mom. I really am. I’m sober, mostly. I still mess up sometimes, and I hate myself when I do, but I’m trying.” She presses her palm into the grass like it might keep her anchored. “I don’t want to be like you were at the end. I don’t want to disappear from the people I love.”

Her throat tightens.

“I loved Ghost so much. I still do. I don’t know how to love something without losing myself in it.” A small, humorless laugh slips out. “Guess that’s genetic, huh?”

She stares at her mother’s name, the dates carved beneath it. So much life is reduced to numbers and stone.

“I don’t think I was ever enough for Dad,” she says quietly. “Not after you. I don’t think I could’ve been.” The admission hurts more than she expects. “I keep trying to fill that space, and I just… can’t.”

Vivienne wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket, angry at herself for crying now of all times.

“I wish you were here,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to do this without you. I don’t know how to be alone and not fall apart. I don’t know how to let him go.”

The wind moves through the trees, gentle and indifferent. The world keeps going, as it always does.

She stands after a while, brushing grass from her jeans. Before she leaves, she decorates her grave with tulips, always her favorite, then presses her fingers to the headstone one last time.

“Please don’t let me ruin this,” she says. “Whatever this is becoming.”

Vivienne walks back to her car feeling hollow and heavy all at once, carrying the weight of love, loss, and the terrifying freedom of what comes next.

And somewhere far away, Eli is already on the road.

Eli doesn’t look back when he pulls the door shut behind him.

He learned a long time ago that if he does, he won’t leave at all.

The hallway smells like old carpet and someone else’s dinner. His boots echo too loudly as he walks toward the elevator, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets like he might lose something if he lets go. He presses the button and stares at the numbers as they light up, one by one, trying not to picture Vivienne standing in the living room, wrapped around herself, pretending she’s fine.

She always pretends she’s fine.

The elevator doors close, and the silence caves in.

He exhales shakily, forehead dropping against the cool metal. He’d kissed her like a reflex. Like goodbye wasn’t enough. Like maybe muscle memory could override reality.

By the time Eli gets outside, the city is already moving on. Cars pass. People laugh. Someone bumps into him and doesn’t apologize. The world doesn’t pause just because he’s just walked away from the best thing he’s ever known.

The driver is waiting. The schedule is waiting. The next chapter of his life is waiting, whether he’s ready or not.

At the airport, everything feels too bright. Too clean. Too efficient. He moves through security on autopilot, guitar case slung over his shoulder like a shield. His phone buzzes once in his pocket. He doesn’t check it. He knows if he does, he won’t get on the plane.

The jet is small, private, impersonal in the way luxury often is. Miles is already inside, feet kicked up, sunglasses on even though they’re indoors. Leo stands near the window, scrolling through his phone, jaw tight.

“Hey,” Miles says, lifting his head when Eli steps in. “You good?”

Eli nods. It’s a lie everyone accepts.

Leo looks up, studies him for a second longer than necessary. “You ready?”

Eli hesitates, just for a beat. Then he forces himself to shrug. “As I’ll ever be.”

The door closes with a soft, final click.

As the jet starts to taxi, Miles breaks the silence. “Is she okay?”

Eli stares out the window, watching the city blur into something unrecognizable. “She will be.”

The plane lifts off, the ground dropping away beneath them. Eli’s stomach lurches, and for a split second he imagines Vivienne driving somewhere with the windows down, trying to breathe through the ache. The thought nearly undoes him.

Leo leans back in his seat. “Tour’s about to be insane,” he says, like it’s something to look forward to. “This is it.”

Eli nods again. This time, it feels heavier.

He pulls out his phone and opens his notes app, thumb hovering over the screen. A lyric forms in his head, something about leaving quietly, about love that doesn’t break but bends until it snaps.

He closes the app without typing a word.

Some things aren’t ready to be written yet.

As the jet climbs higher, Eli rests his head against the seat and closes his eyes, letting the distance do what he couldn’t.

Be final.