He’s there.

   And the world around me goes black.

   I know why it’s called “heartbreak,” because my heart really does feel like it’s physically breaking. I feel every single excruciating bit of pain that comes with it. I feel like I’ve died.

   But I haven’t. I’m still breathing. I just haven’t opened my eyes. For what could have been seconds, I stand in the doorway, eyes closed, for what feels like a lifetime. When I open my eyes, I’ll see the one thing I never, ever wanted to see. I take two deep breaths, in and out, and count to ten in my head. Then I open my eyes.

   I see my room. The bed has been stripped, my comforter and baby blanket gone. Cardboard boxes are scattered around the room—some empty, some filled with my belongings. Jake has my dresser drawer open, and he’s packing one of the boxes with my clothes.

   It’s over.

   He wants me out.

   Gone.

   From his house and his life.

   We’re done.

   My legs start to give out, so I gather all the energy I have left and sit on the edge of the bed.

   I don’t look at him. I can’t see him.

   I sit there and cry silent tears, my head bent, shoulders slouched, and my hands gripping the side of the mattress.

   I can’t face him.

   I hear him pack more of my things—my life. Everything I have left in this world is packed up in a few boxes.

   I cry.

   He shuffles in and out of the room, taking boxes and bags with him.

   And I cry.

   Because it’s all I can do. When your heart breaks, and you lose absolutely everything you have left in your life, the only thing you can do is cry.

   I don’t wail.

   I don’t sob.

   I just sit in silence and let the tears fall.

   All the regrets I’ve ever had play like a movie in my mind. Every moment when I should have told him that he was it. He was my Prince Charming, my knight in shining armor, my happily-ever-after.

   Then I sense him in front of me, but I’m too scared to open my eyes. His warm hands reach for mine and place them around his neck. I know what this is—a sad good-bye. I can’t take it, so I do nothing.

   Then he lifts me in the air, holding me under my thighs. I tighten my grip around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist. He’s walking, one hand on my back and the other behind my head, like I’m a baby. I hold on to him tightly, like I want to climb him and never let go.

   Suddenly I’m lying on something soft, and something warm covers me. It feels so familiar, but I can’t comprehend what it is. I still don’t want to open my eyes and face reality.

   Then I’m on my side, and he’s next to me, his arms wrapped around me so tightly, it’s hard to breathe. But I breathe through it, because I want to feel alive in this moment. I want to remember every single piece of him in the last few moments we have together. So I open my eyes, and he’s there.

   We’re in his bed.

   Under my comforter.

   Surrounded by boxes of my things.

   He kisses away the tears that have fallen on my wet face. He looks at me—really looks at me. Then his lips are on mine, and I close my eyes because the sensation is so overpowering. At first his lips don’t move, like we’re just connected at the mouth, waiting for the sparks to sizzle away. But after a few moments, he opens them slightly, and our lips start moving together in perfect synchrony. His arms around me, I grip his T-shirt. His tongue brushes against my lips, and I moan in pleasure. Then our tongues touch for the first time, and I see white behind my eyes. We hold each other, kissing with our lips and tongues and so much passion that I don’t know if either of us is actually breathing. I get it. My mom was so frickin’ right about this moment.

   And Jake Andrews was so wrong. He didn’t need to kiss me to make me his. I was his the moment he asked me to move here with him and the moment he held my hand at the funeral. I was his when I had nowhere else to go, and he took me into his home. I was his the moment he held me while I cried in the back of that ambulance. He was my strength when I had none. I knew it when he cleared his throat, and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes in that tiny hallway by the restrooms at Bistro’s. And I knew I was his when I fixed his tie at Walmart. That instant, intense feeling was the exact second I knew I was standing in front of my forever.

   We kiss for so long our lips begin to ache. When we finally pull away, we look into each other’s eyes.

   Talking without speaking.

   But something needs to be said, because I never want to go another day without his knowing. “Jake, I am so much more-than-a-lot in love with you.”

   He kisses me again, but this time it’s different—less intimate and more passionate. He dips his tongue further in as he positions himself on top of me, holding himself up on his forearms. He kisses me with so much passion, I almost forget that this is going to be our first time. He presses his body against mine, grinding his hardness into me. His kisses move from my mouth to my jaw then down my neck to my chest. I try to take his shirt off, because I need to feel all of him. He sits up to remove his T-shirt and takes mine off, too.

   “I want you so bad, Kayla,” he whispers into my neck.

   “I’m all yours,” I tell him.

   Because I am.

   And he reciprocates—three times in a row.

   It feels so frickin’ good, I don’t know if I’m dreaming. After the second time, I beg him to stop, but he just keeps going with his mouth and tongue and his fingers. Everything before must have been done so wrong, because Jake Andrews knows. He knows how to do things so goddamn right.

   Once he’s finally inside me, I work out why I never felt like this before. If I compare my feelings for Jake to my feelings for James, then I know I’ve never loved anyone before. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

FORTY-NINE

MIKAYLA, AGE 8

   “What story would you like to read, sweetheart?”

   “I want you to tell me a story, Mommy. My own story, please.”

   My mom smiles at me, her brown eyes softening when she sees my pleading face. “Okay, I’ll tell you a very special story. It’s a fairy tale about kissing a prince.”

   “Yuck, Mommy! Kissing is gross.”

   She laughs a little. I don’t know why, because I don’t think it’s funny. “This is about a special kiss. Are you ready?”

   “Yep.” I nod.

   “One day in the future, Kayla, you’ll meet a handsome prince—a prince so handsome, he will make your heart skip a beat.” I giggle, which makes her laugh, too. “Every princess has one prince to share the loves and joys of life with. Do you know how that princess knows which prince is hers?”