Jay's family watched her silently for days, their eyes heavy with worry. Her cheeks were hollow, her nights haunted, her eyes always red from crying.
Finally, her mother spoke, soft but firm:
"Jay… you need a change. A fresh start, even if it's just for a little while. You can't keep drowning in this house, in this memory, every single day."
Jay didn't argue. How could she? She knew she couldn't escape her own heart. But she packed her bags anyway, moving out of the city, out of the streets that reminded her of him, the house that smelled faintly of his cologne, the bed that still held the shape of him.
The train ride was long and quiet. The world outside blurred past her eyes. She stared at the passing fields, the tiny villages, the sun dipping slowly behind the horizon, and still… she couldn't escape him.
Even in the unfamiliar towns, the unknown streets, the hotels with generic sheets, she felt Keifer everywhere — in the quiet pauses, in the space beside her bed, in the way her own hands ached to reach for him.
Her heart screamed in silence: This isn't a fresh start. This is just a different place to miss him.
Her family hoped that time, distance, and new scenery would calm her, make her forget. But Jay knew something they didn't want to see:
No matter where she went… her heart was still married to Keifer.
Even outstation, even surrounded by strangers, she would cry herself to sleep, clutching the letter, whispering his name into the darkness, praying for a comfort that would never come.