I was Claudine's miracle. Perhaps it was best that we leave it at that, nothing more. For her, being with the real me could only diminish the picture of a guardian angel she now had in her head.

And after all, if I couldn't even follow Amber to Stanford and make that work out, what chance did I really have with a teen from France

I'd known less than a day?

It hurt. It hurt like hell. And every other second I wanted to convince myself to just say ‘the fuck with it’ and TRY, no matter what my rational mind said. And yet, I knew we were not meant to be.

So closing my eyes and letting out a long, long sigh. I lay back in the bed and willed myself to let go.

Leave the moment.

I stood over my suitcase, zipping it completely closed. With my lips tight in a flat line, I nodded. That was everything.

Everything of mine, at least.

I looked around the room. Brianna's suitcase was open and a few outfits were still hanging in the closet. Her toiletries were also spread across the bathroom counter and one of her bikinis was still hanging on a towel rod. I hadn't seen her since before sunset yesterday and as far as I could tell, she'd never come home.

My first instinct once I'd finally emerged from my self-imposed meditation on all things Claudine-related was to panic. What if Brianna were injured, kidnapped, or even dead?

Could I really be so sure our relationship was over that I wouldn't care? I had to call her, make sure she was alright...

And then I found the note: "David. We need some time apart. I'll be home by 11 AM. We'll have plenty of time to talk before the flight."

If only she knew how much I had to confess. I wondered if I knew how much she had to confess. What had she had done and where had she been overnight? Had she gone for an introspective walk and slept beneath the stars? Had she gone to a dance club, picked up a guy, and gone home with him?

Did she rescue a drowning, handsome young man, meet his family, then succumb to an emotional whirlwind of love and lust and then just as rapidly come crashing back to reality?

Between the hangover state I still felt and my recent mental exertions, my brain was already hurting and I was in no condition to go nuts speculating on what Brianna had been doing. So in an effort to be productive, I started packing.

It was our last day on the island and we were supposed to be out by 12 noon. I finished up with my clothes and also our communal gear: guidebooks, hiking sticks, snorkel equipment, and the like. Now, with fifteen minutes to go before Brianna deadline to return, I was starting to go stir crazy.

What if she didn't come back on time? What if she WAS injured, kidnapped, or dead? As my mind started racing, I decided to just keep packing. Anything to keep my mind occupied.

Brianna's toothbrush, deodorant, etc. went into her toiletries bag. Her dirty clothes and the bikini on the towel rod went into a Laundry bag.

I pulled the outfits off the closet hangars and laid them out on the bed. And of the clean clothes she had left, I started folding them up.

So casually, I folded up her Lacey underwear, the same way I'd been doing for months as we'd been doing our laundry together. The mere sight of them simultaneously brought out memories of our wild lovemaking and the quieter domestic moments.

I'd been so content, even if not deliriously happy. I wanted to love her... but it just wasn't there. And unfortunately, love is not something that can be forced. Eventually, I might have married Brianna and we'd have done just fine. But I would have been “settling”, and neither of us really deserved that.

I should have felt sad, knowing the end was near. But instead all I could feel was resignation. After the past 24 hours, my emotions were just completely and utterly drained. There was just nothing Left.

And so I was in that state when a key went into the door at 10:57 and

Brianna walked in. I was sitting on the bed, in the middle of folding her skirt when I looked up at her with a vacant expression, neither happy nor sad to see her.

For her part, Brianna took one look at me and started crying. Her emerald eyes were a dull green and her makeup was rather smeared. Her dirty blonde hair was oily and matted and she had quite the pitiful look on her face. The airy summer dress she wore was wrinkled and a little dirty. It was clear that she hadn't taken a shower yet; and she probably hadn't slept very well, either.