No Secondhand Vows For Me

"Are you feeling that sick? Do you want to try kissing? See if it helps?" We were driving through the high passes of the Colorado Rockies, a road trip meant to celebrate the autumn turn of the aspens. The suggestion came casually from the driver’s seat, tossed out by my fiancé, Noah, toward the girl sitting beside him. I sat alone in the back. My head snapped up, a wave of cold shock cutting through my motion sickness. Bridget—my supposed best friend—shot him a feigned, playful scowl. But the moment he tilted his head toward her, she lunged forward. Their lips collided. They kissed with a frantic, slick intensity, a tangle of open mouths and breathless murmurs, as if the space between the front seats were an entirely private universe and I were merely luggage forgotten on the leather behind them. The nausea that had been churning in my throat vanished, replaced instantly by an icy, paralyzing numbness. When Noah finally pulled back, he adjusted the rearview mirror, meeting my eyes with a gaze so soft, so practiced in its gentleness, that it made my skin crawl. "I just saw how pale Bridget looked," he explained smoothly, his tone dripping with patronizing sweetness. "Kissing triggers an endorphin rush. I read somewhere it relieves motion sickness faster than dramamine." I stared at his lips—slightly swollen, glistening wet in the alpine glare. When I spoke, my voice was a fragile, trembling thread: "I’m carsick too, Noah. But I still gave her the front seat." Bridget chuckled, turning in her chair to ruffle his dark hair with breezy familiarity. "Oh, sweetie, don’t be jealous. I only think of Noah as a little brother. There’s nothing between us, I swear." She reached over and hooked her manicured finger under his chin, giving it a playful tug. "Go on, little brother. Call me big sis. Let’s hear it." Noah squirmed against the leather, dodging her touch with a boyish grin, hands barely holding the steering wheel. "Come on, Bridget, give me a break!" They burst into laughter, drowning out the hum of the tires on the asphalt. It was that effortless, unshakeable intimacy they slipped into so easily—an invisible, airtight bubble that, for the hundredth time, locked me on the outside looking in. My chest burned, raw and hollow. Turning my face away, I stared out the window. Outside, the jagged peaks of the Sangre de Cristo range stood crowned in early powder, cold and immovable, looming over the highway like silent sentinels. Beneath the hem of my sweater, my thumb moved to my left hand. Slowly, I pulled off the diamond ring he had given me. Then I unlocked my phone and tapped "Accept" on the formal invitation from the Southwest Archaeological Survey. … My phone vibrated softly against my palm. The confirmation email from the remote field station in Santa Fe arrived almost instantly: "Dear Ms. Gallagher, thank you for accepting the field research fellowship. Please report to the research facility in three days. We look forward to welcoming you to the crew." Three days. That was supposed to be the day we drove back to the city. The day we were scheduled to stand before an officiant and say our vows. I locked the screen. In the front, the performance continued uninterrupted. Bridget had grabbed the loose end of Noah’s knit tie, reeling him toward her. The sickly-sweet trail of her designer jasmine perfume drifted into the backseat, stinging my sinuses. "Noah, my head is still pounding," she purred, leaning close enough that her breath clouded the side glass. "Are you sure that kiss wasn’t just an excuse to cop a feel on your favorite girl?" Half-pulled across the center console, Noah let out a low chuckle, his eyes dancing with reckless charm. "My dear queen, that just means we didn’t kiss long enough for the chemistry to kick in. Want to go for round two?" They leaned in again, giggling, brushing noses. The SUV hit a frost heave on the mountain pass, jostling violently, and with that bump, whatever was left of my heart plummeted straight through the floorboards. I looked away, fixing my gaze on the floor mats, fiercely willing the tears not to spill. Beyond the glass, the endless granite peaks were wrapped in blinding white, starkly reminding me of the day I first met him. Sophomore year. An archaeological field seminar in the ruins of Crete. Noah had just bleached his hair a pale, icy blond that caught the Aegean sun, radiating an effortless, magnetic wealth. He was studying modern architecture, sketching classical columns with long, elegant fingers. In the dim, stifling cabin of our tour bus, while everyone else was shouting over the radio, he had leaned across the aisle and handed me a strip of motion sickness tablets. "The mountain roads on this island are brutal," he had said softly, his voice a balm. "If the pills don't work, my shoulder’s right here. You can lean on me." At that moment, Bridget had been sitting up front, flirting loudly with one of the grad students. Nobody on that bus had noticed my pale, sweating face—except him. Back then, a sudden warmth had rushed through my chest. I had blushed, thanking him, only to look up and catch Bridget staring back at me from three rows ahead, a strange, knowing smirk curving her painted mouth. It wasn't until much later that I learned they were childhood friends from the same gated enclave in Connecticut. And it wasn't until this morning, when we were packing the trunk, that I learned Bridget supposedly suffered from motion sickness too. This trip was supposed to be our quiet getaway before the wedding. Yet Noah had insisted on bringing her along, his tone hard and dismissive when I gently protested: "If I don’t bring her, she’ll never stop whining. Just let her come." And the second we reached the car, she had insisted on the passenger seat, whining that she’d throw up if she sat in the back. Noah had indulged her without missing a beat, coaxing her with that smooth, teasing tone: "Alright, alright, your highness. The throne is yours." When I had hesitated, holding my hand on the passenger door handle, Noah had turned around, looking at me with cold irritation, all that playful affection vanishing into thin air: "Don’t be ridiculous, June. You’re tough, you can handle the back. Stop trying to compete with her." A sharp ache seized my throat. Tears escaped, hot and bitter against my cheeks, tearing me out of the memory. He remembered I got carsick. Of course he did. But the moment Bridget entered the frame, my comfort, my dignity, my entire existence were immediately demoted to an afterthought. Perhaps she heard my ragged breath. Bridget broke off their nuzzling, turning around in her seat. A smug, feline satisfaction gleamed in her hazel eyes. "Noah and I are creatives, June. When the spark hits, we just react. In the art world, they call it a passionate platonic greeting. It’s an aesthetic gesture." She gave a condescending little shrug. "Oh, right. You majored in ancient history and dig up old bones. You’re a bit traditional for that kind of thing. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to how we are eventually." "Traditional." I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I had heard that word from Noah’s mouth a thousand times. It was always like that in college. Noah studied architecture; Bridget designed luxury jewelry. Whenever the three of us ate together, they traded rapid-fire banter about postmodernism, structural form, and boutique galleries, throwing around names and theories like private currency. I was always left sitting across from them, quietly cutting my food. Whenever I tried to bridge the gap—mentioning the geometric layouts of ancient burial chambers or the delicate metalwork of Bronze Age ornaments—Noah would wave it off with a patronizing smirk, calling my interests "antiquated". He constantly teased me for being too quiet, too stiff, claiming I lacked his spontaneous romantic spirit. He’d whisper that I should give up the dusty dirt of archaeology and simply settle into being his elegant, kept wife. Yet every time I genuinely tried to step into his world, he slammed the door in my face. Just like now. "She’s slow to catch on, Bridget, and she holds grudges," Noah chimed in, flicking the blinker as we rounded a bend. "She doesn't have your flair. How could she ever get used to it?" He shot another glance in the rearview mirror and clicked his tongue. "Look at that. Two words and the waterworks start. Unbelievable." Their laughter harmonized—a light, cruel chorus. I slipped the ring into my coat pocket. Wiping my wet cheeks with the back of my hand, I lifted my chin, staring directly into the mirror at the man I had promised to marry. "I won’t get used to it," I said, my voice shockingly level. "And I’m not going to try anymore." Noah sighed. "June, please—" "We’re done, Noah. It’s over." The SUV jerked violently as Noah slammed his foot on the brake, pulling hard onto the gravel shoulder. He threw the car into park, unbuckled, and strode around to yank open the rear door. Leaning into the backseat, he pressed a warm, hurried kiss against my cheek, his tone suddenly dripping with velvet remorse. "Come on, baby, don’t say things you don’t mean," he murmured, reaching out to stroke my hair. "Look, we’re at the horse ranch. Just like I promised. I’m going to take you riding through the meadows. Are you feeling sick? Let me carry you out." The transition was seamless. The practiced tenderness of an experienced charmer, pouring out just enough warmth to placate the orphan girl who had never known what family felt like. From the day I agreed to date him, whispers had circulated through our campus circles about how long we’d last. He was a golden boy, the sole heir to a high-end architectural firm, wealthy, reckless, and effortlessly handsome. I was a scholarship kid from an impoverished logging town in northern Maine, running from an alcoholic family that viewed daughters as domestic labor, scraping by in a field that promised no money. Nobody thought he would ever propose to me. Least of all myself. Seeing that I remained still, Noah’s brow furrowed slightly. He reached down and took my bare left hand. His eyes narrowed. "Where’s your ring, June? Don't tell me you lost it. If you don’t like the cut, I’ll buy you another one. Just tell me." A hairline fracture appeared in the defensive wall I had spent the last hour building in my chest. I shook my head, feeling a stupid, pathetic pang of guilt. But just as my fingers touched the edge of the ring in my pocket, Bridget appeared behind him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "Noah! You idiot, you actually picked the setting I designed!" She squealed, pointing at his hand, then laughing in delight. "I created that custom saffron-blossom band for my future husband, remember? You stole my concept!" My hand froze in my pocket. Noah instantly dropped my cold fingers, casually sliding his arm around Bridget’s waist instead, pulling her against his side. "Well, if you’re volunteering to be the bride, who am I to say no? I wouldn't mind trading out every few nights." He tapped the tiny freckle on the bridge of her nose. "And don't flatter yourself. I didn't pick the saffron blossom because of you. I picked it because it’s passionate. It has fire." "Liar!" Bridget shrieked, swatting his chest playfully. "You totally eavesdropped on my critique with Professor Hall! You knew it was my dream design and you bought it to get my attention!" "You caught me," Noah grinned, unrepentant. Bridget shoved him playfully and took off running toward the open pastures of the ranch. "Jerks like you don't get my attention that easily!" Noah immediately sprang after her, only pausing for half a second to throw an irritated command over his shoulder at me: "Stop pouting, June! Learn to loosen up like Bridget. We’re on vacation. Don’t ruin everybody else’s good time just because you’re in a mood." Their figures blurred together against the vast, golden expanse of the alpine valley. A crushing exhaustion swept through my limbs. My thumb traced the sharp contours of the ring hidden in my coat. The saffron motif was borrowed from ancient Minoan frescoes, celebrating earthly hedonism and fleeting pleasure. The ring I had originally fallen in love with, the one I had shyly shown him months ago, was an understated band engraved with wild Cretan dittany. In classical lore, young lovers risked their lives scaling sheer sea cliffs to harvest the rare herb for their beloved—a token of enduring, sacrificial fidelity. I had wanted it to commemorate the island where we first met. But Noah had laughed, dismissing the design as bland and sentimental. "Boring," he had called it. "Just like you." A hollow ache opened wide in my chest. For a fleeting second, I wanted to run after him, grab him by the collar, and demand the truth: "When you stood in that boutique, hesitating for thirty seconds before choosing the saffron ring, were you imagining our wedding day? Or were you thinking of Bridget?" Instead, I dragged my feet forward, walking dumbly toward the stables. Ahead of me, Noah was already lifting Bridget onto a sleek bay mare. The mountain breeze whipped across the grass. He held the horse’s reins with an exquisite, gentle caution, as though handling spun glass. He patiently adjusted her stirrups, showed her how to hold the leather, and brushed stray strands of hair from her laughing face. It was a display of radiant, unhurried tenderness. A tenderness he had never once offered me. Hot tears stung my eyes again. A surge of desperate, humiliating defiance surged through my blood. "Noah!" I called out, my voice cracking against the wind. "I don’t know how to ride!" He didn't even turn his head. His response drifted back on the breeze, casual and sharp: "Then figure it out, June. You’re an adult, aren't you? You’re always so clumsy with sports anyway. I’m not wasting my afternoon teaching you." "Clumsy." Of course. I was the fool who kept expecting him to turn around. Clenching my jaw, I grabbed the saddle of an unattended roan mare and jammed my boot into the stirrup, trying to heave myself up. I had barely found my balance when the horse shifted abruptly, spooked by a sudden gust of wind. My foot slipped. The ground rushed up to meet me. The impact knocked the breath straight from my lungs. A sharp, searing pain exploded through my right knee, radiating up into my hip. I lay in the dust, trembling, gasping for air as sharp rocks bit into my palms. Groaning, I tried to push myself up. Through the blur of dust, I saw Noah and Bridget sharing a horse now, cantering toward the fence line. Noah pointed his crop directly at me, throwing his head back in unrestrained laughter. "Told you! Look at her, Bridget! She can’t even get her foot in the stirrup without wiping out!" "Oh God, stop, my stomach hurts from laughing!" Bridget pulled out her phone, snapping photos through the fence. "This is priceless. Noah, I swear to God I’m putting this on the projector at the reception!" A grizzled stable hand hurried over, catching me under the arms to haul me out of the dirt. He shook his head, offering a sympathetic, grimacing smile. "Miss, folks around here say never work for a couple’s business, and never ride third wheel on a honeymoon. You shouldn't take that kind of crap from your boss and his girl." I scrubbed frantically at the grime and wetness on my face. "He’s my fiancé." The stable hand froze. The silence around the paddock thickened, awkward and suffocating. I gave his sleeve a faint, trembling pat, forcing the ghost of a smile onto my lips. "It’s fine. In a couple of days, he won’t be." ... By morning, my right knee had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, mottled with deep purple bruising. I dragged myself out of bed in the rented cabin, reaching for an ice pack, when the door swung open with a bang. "Are you hibernating or what? Get up! We’ve got an itinerary to keep!" Noah and Bridget marched in, smelling faintly of cold night air and cheap whiskey. They hadn't come back to the cabin until dawn. Before I could say a word, Noah seized my arm, half-dragging me toward the door, ignoring my sharp gasp of pain. At the mountain depot, we boarded the tourist railway that wound up toward the high peaks. Every step sent a jolt of fire up my leg. Neither of them looked down. Inside the train car, they took the plush window seats across the aisle, their shoulders glued together as they whispered and giggled. I sat alone against the opposite wall, staring blankly ahead, yet unable to block out their reflection in the glass. Bridget leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear, so close she was practically tasting his skin. My chest tightened with that familiar, dull ache. I pulled out my phone. With trembling fingers, I opened the digital dashboard for our wedding preparations. The venue, the caterer, the floral arrangements I had spent six months meticulously planning on a shoestring budget. Without hesitating, I clicked "Cancel Event". A prompt popped up: "Are you sure? Deposits will be forfeited." I tapped "Confirm". Then, my social feed refreshed. At the top of the timeline sat Bridget’s latest post. It was the photo from yesterday. Me, sprawled awkwardly in the dirt, face smeared with dust, mouth open in shock, legs tangled beneath the rail. The caption read: "Some people just weren't built for the wild west lol." Blood rushed to my ears, hot and deafening. Ignoring the throbbing fire in my joint, I stood up and crossed the narrow aisle, shoving the screen right into Bridget’s face. "What is this? Why would you post this?" Noah and Bridget both looked up, and then Noah burst into a short laugh. He reached out and ruffled Bridget’s hair, not a shred of remorse on his features. "Guess I lost the bet," he chuckled to her. "Fine. I’ll carry your backpack up the summit trail." Then he tilted his chin up at me, his expression curdling into pure disgust. "God, June, do you have to be so damn sensitive? I literally bet her twenty bucks you were mature enough not to make a scene over a joke. Thanks for embarrassing me." My hand shook so hard the phone nearly slipped from my fingers. "A bet." They were placing bets on my humiliation. "What am I to you, Noah?" I whispered, staring into his pale eyes. The train gave a screeching lurch, halting at the timberline station. Noah stood up, grabbed my wrist in a hard grip, and pulled me toward the platform doors. "You’re my wife-to-be," he said, the words rolling off his tongue with effortless, hollow ease. "You’re my partner. Now drop it." I pulled back, anchoring my feet on the concrete platform. "I’m not hiking this trail. My leg is injured from yesterday. It hurts to walk." He exhaled a long, theatrical breath, his face tightening with sheer exhaustion. "Why do you always have to be such a buzzkill, June? Did the bone snap? No? Then you can walk." Bridget was already nudging me from behind, pushing me toward the dirt trailhead. "Come on, don’t start a fight. Consider this the grand finale of your single life! One last hike!" "Yes," I thought, looking up at the barren, wind-scoured trail winding into the thin clouds. "It really is the grand finale." I forced my boots onto the rocky path. At eleven thousand feet, the air was thin, razor-sharp, and ice-cold. Each step on my swollen knee felt like grinding broken glass inside the joint capsule. I fell behind almost immediately, my lungs burning, wheezing for oxygen. Up ahead, Noah turned around, scowling at the distance between us. Without breaking stride, he turned his back to Bridget, hoisted her effortlessly onto his shoulders, and threw a taunt back down the slope: "Hurry up, limpy! We’re not waiting for you!" My chest clamped shut. A wave of dizziness washed over my vision, cold sweat soaking through my base layers. "Noah…" I rasped, my throat raw. "I can’t breathe… altitude sickness… please, wait…" They didn't stop. They didn't even slow down. Their laughter drifted back on the wind, growing fainter and fainter until their bright windbreakers shrank into two tiny, indistinguishable specks against the gray scree. I tried to push forward. I tried to run. But the world tilted sickeningly. My good leg buckled. The gray gravel rose up, and I crashed onto the frozen dirt, darkness creeping in from the edges of my vision. It had always been like this. In college, I had spent sleepless nights reading through obscure design journals, memorizing architectural manifestos, forcing myself to learn their vocabulary just so I wouldn't be left behind at dinner tables. Yet they had never once paused their stride for me. They had simply walked faster, leaving me in the dust, shrinking until they vanished entirely. A single tear rolled down the side of my nose, freezing against the dirt. As unconsciousness pulled me under, an old memory surfaced through the dark. Senior year. Noah standing under the campus lamp post, his eyes clear and earnest, devoid of all his usual sneering mockery. "I won the bet," he had whispered, pulling me into his coat against the November chill. "Be my girlfriend, June. I love you." I had cried that night, nodding against his chest, believing every syllable. ... A sudden beep dragged me back to consciousness. I opened my eyes to the sterile, white ceiling of an alpine emergency clinic. A nurse noticed me stirring and approached the bedside, her expression full of quiet pity. "Take it easy, sweetie. You had acute altitude sickness and a severe ligament sprain. A couple of hikers found you passed out near the trail switchback and carried you down. We tried calling the emergency contacts in your phone, but neither of them picked up." "Of course they didn't." I closed my eyes, a dry, hollow laugh escaping my lips. The dream was over. There was no point in clinging to phantoms anymore. When I opened my eyes again, the grief had drained away, leaving only a cold, crystalline stillness. With a rigid brace locked around my right knee, I took a taxi back to our base cabin at the foot of the mountains. I hadn't even pushed the front door open when Bridget’s brazen laughter drifted through the timber planks, followed by Noah’s low, affectionate voice. "Drink up, Bridge. Once the ring is on her finger, I won’t have this much freedom. We won’t be able to hang out like this every weekend." "Oh, please," Bridget scoffed, ice clinking in her glass. "It’s the twenty-first century, Noah. Who follows those archaic rules? Besides, I helped you design that penthouse. You promised me my own guest suite. I’m staying over whenever I want." I pushed the door open. The room went still for a beat. Noah was slouched on the leather sofa, holding a glass of bourbon. Seeing me, he flashed an easy, charming grin and raised his glass. "Hey, wifey! You took your sweet time coming down the mountain. Tired? Come have a drink with us." He didn't notice the medical brace on my leg. He didn't ask why I was pale as paper. He didn't know I had almost died on that ridge. I looked away, stepping toward the bedroom. Bridget leaned her chin on her hand, tracking me with an amused, lazy smile. "You know, June, if you think about it, you really owe this whole marriage to me." I stopped in my tracks. Beside her, Noah clinked his glass against hers, making no move to stop her. A cruel, glittering triumph danced in Bridget’s eyes. "Back in Greece, sophomore year? Noah and I got into this massive screaming match over whether we should sleep together before making things official. I got so pissed off that I dumped him on the spot. I told him he wasn't hot shit, that he couldn't just snap his fingers and make any girl fall for him." A chill crept up my spine, freezing the breath in my lungs. "So," Bridget continued smoothly, taking a slow sip of her drink, "we made a bet. The rules were simple: he had one month to make you fall head over heels for him. If he pulled it off, I’d sleep with him no questions asked. If he failed, he had to sit down, shut up, and be my loyal little puppy." Noah leaned back against the cushions, swirling the amber liquor in his glass with indifferent ease. "Turns out you were pretty easy to land," he murmured, staring into his drink. "All it took was a pack of motion sickness pills I bought for Bridget that morning, and you were looking at me like I was Jesus Christ himself. So yeah. I won." The silence that followed was absolute. Every memory of our beginning—the gentle hand offering medicine on that winding Greek road, the late-night texts, the whispered promises under the streetlights—shattered like cheap glass, ground into dust beneath my boots. It hadn't been fate. It hadn't been providence crossing oceans to bring two lonely souls together. It was a transaction. A parlor game between two bored, wealthy sociopaths trying to see who could manipulate the charity case first. The tears that had threatened to fall simply dried up. The grief, the humiliation, the longing—all of it collapsed into an infinite, hollow void. I didn't even bother asking if Bridget had paid up her side of the bet. Without a word, I turned away from their raised glasses, ignoring their triumphant shouts of "To the end of bachelorhood!" I walked into the bedroom, unzipped Noah’s leather duffel bag, and dropped the saffron-blossom ring right into the center of his folded shirts. Then I zipped it shut, severing five years of my life with a single pull of brass teeth. ... Early the next morning, the smell of stale bourbon announced Noah’s presence before he even reached the bed. He leaned over, his breath warm and sour against my neck, trying to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Morning, wifey. Day one of forever. Happy?" I turned my head away, pressing my cheek flat against the pillow, refusing him even a sliver of my gaze. When his lips met empty air, he shifted closer, his hand reaching for my waist. "Come on, June. Leave yesterday’s bad vibes in yesterday. That stupid bet was years ago. Bridget and I were just messing with you. You know how we talk." I lay completely still, silent as stone. My silence finally chipped away at his veneer. Noah pulled back. The playful warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by that dark, petulant arrogance he usually reserved for service workers who got his order wrong. "Look, June, I have a finite amount of patience for coaxing," he snapped, towering over the bed. "Ever since I let Bridget take the front seat, you’ve been throwing a passive-aggressive tantrum. What the hell do you think I owe you?" I sat up slowly, looking him dead in the eyes. "Faithfulness," I said quietly. "You aren't capable of it." A harsh, mocking laugh burst from his chest. He looked down at me, his eyes raking over my plain cotton shirt with sheer derision. "Faithfulness? You think you’ve earned the right to demand that from me? What leverage do you have, June? You think you’re so pure and untouchable, sitting on your high horse judging me and Bridget? You let me into your bed two weeks after we started dating. You aren't special. You’re a girl from a dead-end logging town with zero family and zero prospects. Without me, what the hell are you?" The slap echoed through the timber cabin like a gunshot. The force of my hand snapped his head to the side. Five red finger marks blossomed across his pale cheekbone. "Then why did you say you loved me like it mattered?" My voice tore from my throat, raw and fractured. "Why did you look at me like I was your whole world? You knew! You knew nobody in my life had ever given a damn about me! Why give me hope if it was all a sick joke?!" Even with my handprint blazing on his face, his eyes remained utterly detached, cold as river ice. "I did love you," he said smoothly, adjusting his collar. "You’re the one throwing it away." He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a razor-thin threat. "I like bold, vibrant women who come from the same world I do. That’s my preference, June. You don't have the standing to control who I spend time with." He grabbed the handle of his suitcase, his knuckles white. "Let me make this crystal clear: don't ever try to trap me with traditional bullshit about marriage and loyalty. I hate that martyr act. If you don't want me bringing other women back to our penthouse after the wedding, you’d better learn to look the other way when I’m out in the city." The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. The vibration rattled the cabin windows, sealing the coffin on the future I had envisioned. My knees gave out. I sank onto the braided rug, burying my face in my hands, but not a single sob came out. My chest hitched, dry and hollow. I had always known Noah was selfish, wild, and reckless. But in my pathetic, starving desperation for affection, I had convinced myself that I was the exception. The quiet girl who could tame the storm. To keep that illusion alive, I had swallowed my pride, neglected my career, abandoned my own boundaries, and shrunk myself small enough to fit inside his pocket. It was my mistake. My blindness. Fortunately, the bill had come due before the ink on the marriage license was dry. I stood up, smoothed down my jeans, and walked out into the crisp mountain air. At the front desk, the lodge clerk looked at me with cautious, hesitant eyes. "Uh, miss? Mr. Langford and the other lady checked out about an hour ago. He said... well, he said you’d find your own way back to the airport." I gave a faint, quiet smile. "Thank you." Pulling out my phone, I opened Noah’s contact card and hit "Block". Then I did the same to Bridget. Then I navigated to Amtrak’s website and booked a one-way sleeper ticket to New Mexico. Outside the train window hours later, the snowy peaks of Colorado slowly receded, carrying away the tangled, poisonous wreckage of the last five years. When the train finally ground to a halt at the depot in Santa Fe, the desert sun was setting in streaks of crimson and gold. Stepping onto the platform, I saw a cluster of young researchers holding up a cardboard sign with my name scrawled in black marker. When they saw me, their faces lit up with pure, unvarnished excitement. "June! Welcome to the team! You ready for a brand-new chapter?" I slung my canvas pack over my shoulder and walked toward them, smiling. "I’m ready."