Sam's POV
Three months passed like a blurry page of a book I tried not to reread.
I finally moved out of Cassie’s place yesterday. She was the one who actually insisted I stay longer, but I knew I had to leave not because I didn’t love her, but because people change, and so do seasons. Cassie had her own chapter to live now. A bigger one. A newer one. With Clark.
I wanted her to have her peace, her quiet mornings with her soon-to-be husband without me being the extra pair of footsteps in their hallway.
But of course, Cassie being Cassie, didn’t let me go that easily.
“This is too far,” she said for maybe the fiftieth time today as she helped carry a box marked pillows and chaos into my new house. “What if something happens to you in the middle of the night? What if you faint? What if you trip and hit your head?”
“Then I’ll haunt you and Clark in your honeymoon,” I joked, wiping sweat off my forehead.
Clark chuckled from the porch. “Honestly, she might. She still knows our Wi-Fi password.”
I gave them both a look. “Guys, I’m fine. Seriously. This house may be away from the main street, but it’s not in the middle of a jungle.”
Cassie crossed her arms. “Still—”
“Cass,” I said, walking to her with a small grin. “I have cameras installed. Emergency call buttons in three rooms. One in the kitchen. One in the living room. One even in my bedroom. It’s all synced to my phone, your phone, and Clark’s. I’m basically Iron Man.”
She raised a brow. “Really?”
I pulled my phone and showed her the app. “Watch this.”
With one tap, the lights flickered on and off.
Cassie’s mouth dropped. “Okay… that’s actually cool.”
I giggled. “Technology’s fun, right? Even trauma girls like me can sleep safe now.”
Cassie just stared at me for a beat before pulling me into a long hug. “You better be okay. I mean it. If you ever—ever—feel like you’re slipping, you call me. Or Clark. Or a ghost. I don’t care. Just don’t do it alone.”
I hugged her back tightly. “I won’t.”
And I meant it.
After they left and the sun started to set through the windows, I began unpacking.
It felt oddly peaceful. The furniture was minimal, the walls freshly painted white, and my books were stacked by the window waiting for a shelf.
Box after box, I sorted, folded, placed, and even smiled at random old stuff I forgot I had. I was halfway through one of the last ones when I saw it.
A brown box. No label. Just a small sticky note taped on top:
“Open me if you’re ready.”
I paused. My heart didn’t race, but something about it made my stomach flip.
The handwriting was familiar. My hand hovered over the flap. I debated putting it aside for another time. Or never.
But I didn’t.
I opened it.
Inside were photographs. Dozens. Some old, some new. All of me.
Me laughing. Me reading. Me walking down the sidewalk. Me drinking coffee. Me asleep in the backseat of Cassie’s car. Me under the rain. Me smiling. Me crying.
Every single photo was taken from behind or from the side—candid, real, raw. Every photo showed a version of me I almost forgot existed.
And at the very bottom, wrapped in soft cloth like it was fragile, was a camera.
My breath caught.
The same camera I threw across the wall that night.
I remember the shattering sound. The way it smashed into pieces. So why was it here?
I gently unwrapped it. It was the exact same one. The strap was still frayed. The sticker Cassie once placed on it was still there—a stupid cartoon ghost with heart eyes.
Taped to the back was a note.
"I fixed what I could. I didn’t want you to lose the pieces of yourself I captured.
I know you hate me. Maybe forever. But these are the moments I wanted you to remember when you forget how to love yourself again.
I took these not to spy… but to hold onto the version of you that kept me alive, too.
I’m sorry. — E."
My hands shook.
What the hell?
I dug deeper into the box, and at the very bottom was a memory card. I plugged it into my laptop with trembling fingers.
It opened a folder labeled:
“If you’re ready to see it all.”
Inside? A compilation video. Of me.
Clips—stitched together—small, subtle ones. Some were soundless. Some were raw footage. But they all told a story.
Me smiling through pain. Me trying to be okay. Me healing. Me breaking. Me laughing. Me existing.
In between clips, texts appeared in his handwriting:
“You don’t know how much I admired you.”
“You made me want to be good.”
“I was a coward.”
“You made me feel safe too.”
“This is not to win you back. This is so you never forget your strength.”
“You were the light. I was just holding the camera.”
I covered my mouth. My whole body was trembling. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted the salt in my lips.
How did he—
Why did he—
What was this?
A part of me wanted to throw the camera out the window again. But I didn’t.
Because another part of me—one I tried to bury—ached.
Not for Eli. But for the person I used to be. And the one I was trying to become.
I closed the video. Closed the laptop. And stared out the window, the city lights slowly blinking on.
I didn't know if this was another game. Another guilt move. Or just something pure in a messed up world.
But one thing was sure.
I wasn’t the same girl anymore.
And I think.... I was ready to start forgiving, even if I never forgot.