When I hang up the phone, the lady at the counter finishes wrapping Jeremy's gift. The colorful paper shimmers softly under the mall's dim lights, and for a moment, I can already see the smile on his face when he opens it. I thank her, take the paper bag, and head toward the parking lot.
Outside, the air is cool, and the sunset paints the sky with streaks of pink and gold. I clutch the gift against my chest, my heart light with excitement. Jeremy is leaving tomorrow—Friday. Four weeks and four days since we became a couple, and now he's flying to France. I want tonight to be perfect.
Meanwhile, Jeremy waits in my room. It's already 7:30 p.m. He's sitting cross-legged on my bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. The silence presses in on him. His gaze wanders around my room until it lands on something resting on the edge of my pillow—my diary.
He hesitates, then reaches for it.
At first, the pages make him smile—memories of our high school days, the laughter, the teasing, the late-night calls. But then, his smile fades. His eyes move faster across the words, the pages flipping quicker as he reads about Louis. About my feelings for someone else.
He doesn't reach the part where I write that I choose him, that I love him. He stops there—heart tight, anger boiling in his chest. The diary slips from his hands and falls open on the bed. He stands abruptly, his jaw clenched, and without another thought, he climbs out through the same window he used to come in.
By the time I arrive home, it's almost eight. My heart is pounding with happiness and anticipation. I drop my car keys on the kitchen counter and rush upstairs, the gift swinging in my hand.
"Jeremy?" I call softly as I reach my bedroom door. No answer.
Smiling, I push the door open—expecting to see him half-asleep on my bed—but the room is empty. The curtains flutter in the evening breeze from the open window. Then I see it—my diary, lying wide open.
The realization hits me like a cold wave.
He read it.
I rush forward, flipping through the pages, and my stomach twists when I see where he stopped—on the part where I described Louis's body, how perfect I thought he was. My knees weaken.
"Oh no, no, no…" I whisper, clutching the diary to my chest.
My hands shake as I grab my phone and dial Jeremy's number. He doesn't pick up. I try again. Nothing. Each ring feels like a knife.
He's gone.
Tears blur my vision, but I grab the gift and run downstairs. I fling the door open—only to freeze. My parents and brothers are standing there, just about to knock.
"Laranie?" Mom's voice is soft, concerned.
The gift slips from my hand and lands on the floor. My tears spill freely now. I drop to my knees and start sobbing.
Mom and Dad rush in, helping me to the sofa. I cry harder, the pain spilling out of me in waves I can't control.
"What's wrong, my dear? Why are you crying?" Dad asks, his voice tight with worry.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
"Sweetheart, talk to us," Mom says gently.
Finally, through the sobs, I manage to whisper, "I messed up. I messed up big time."
"What did you do?" Mom asks softly.
"I hurt Jeremy… and now he's gone. He's not answering my calls. He's leaving tomorrow."
Dad frowns. "What happened?"
"She left her diary on the bed," Mom says quietly. "Didn't you?"
I look up, startled. "You knew?"
She nods. "I'm your mother, Laranie. I notice things."
I take a shaky breath and explain everything—from going to buy his gift, to our text messages, to finding the diary open. When I finish, I can barely speak through the tears.
"He read everything about Louis… and now he hates me," I whisper.
"Oh, honey," Mom says, wrapping her arms around me.
Dad sighs deeply. "He leaves tomorrow, right?"
"Yes. And now… he won't even talk to me."
Mom rubs my back gently. "If he truly loves you, he'll give you a chance to explain. You'll see him tomorrow before he leaves."
"Do you think he'll forgive me?" I ask, voice trembling.
"I can't promise that," she says softly. "Forgiveness comes from the heart. But you can still tell him the truth."
Her words make me cry again. Dad leans forward, his tone calm but firm. "You can't undo what happened, but you can face it. Don't give up."
Mom nods. "And remember, we're here for you. Always."
I wipe my tears and whisper, "Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad."
After dinner, though the food smells delicious, it tastes like nothing. I force myself to eat, but my thoughts are miles away. When I finally go upstairs, I lock my door and collapse on my bed. The diary lies there, the cause of everything, and rage rises in me. I start tearing the pages apart, throwing them onto the floor as tears stream down my face.
Then there's a knock at the door.
I quickly wipe my eyes and open it—it's my brothers, Joe and Justin.
"Hey," I say weakly.
They walk in without a word and sit on the bed beside me. Then, one by one, they hug me. And that's all it takes for the tears to start again.
"Laranie, it's gonna be okay," Joe says quietly.
"Yeah, we're all here for you," Justin adds.
I hug them both tightly. "Thank you, guys. I don't deserve you."
Mom and Dad appear at the doorway, their faces gentle.
Mom sits on the edge of the bed. "If you can't do anything about it, let it go, sweetheart. Don't be a prisoner to the things you can't change."
Dad adds softly, "And when you finally let go, something better always comes along."
Their words touch me deeply—but there's one thing I can't let go of. Not Jeremy. Never Jeremy.
After a long family hug, they tuck me into bed like when I was a little girl. Mom kisses my forehead and whispers, "Tomorrow is a new day."
When they leave and the room falls silent, I stare into the darkness. My thoughts swirl around Jeremy—his smile, his laugh, the way he always believed in me.
I close my eyes, whispering to myself, "I can't lose him."
Sleep comes slowly, heavy with tears and hope for the morning.