Only Just Begun

Between What We Were and What We'll Never Be

Carol stood at the window of her room, eyes lost in a distant haze, staring out as though searching for a rescue that would never come. The iron gate outside remained firmly closed, a cold, cruel reminder of her imprisonment—not just within the walls of that grand house, but inside her own fractured heart. The idea of romance, of knights and white horses, had always felt like a fantasy best left to fairytales. She had never truly believed in saviors. And yet, for one fragile, luminous moment, she'd dared to believe Jerry might be hers.

But what had once seemed like the beginning of a love story unraveled before her eyes, revealing nothing more than illusion. He wasn't her prince—he was just another frog dressed in charm, and his kiss had broken her instead of saving her. The heartbreak of losing the man who had unexpectedly, irrevocably captured her heart carved through her like glass. He hadn't been in her life for long, but his presence had etched itself into her soul, leaving behind a trail of memories that now felt more like ghosts than gifts.

Three days had passed since that wretched dinner, since everything fell apart. Since love turned into silence and closeness into distance. She was still stuck in that moment, looping endlessly through everything he'd said and everything he hadn't. The letter he'd left behind had become her sentence. She had read it again and again, each word like a dagger, each confession another step away from what they could have been. His fears, his doubts, his inability to see past the years between them—all spelled out in ink that refused to fade.

He couldn't accept their age difference. That was the truth, plain and cruel. And it didn't matter how much she had loved him, how fiercely she had believed in what they had. Their story had ended before it even had a real chance to begin. What she had once imagined—weekends wrapped in laughter, conversations that carried them into the early hours, a life full of books, music, shared mornings and whispered promises—had crumbled beneath the weight of reality.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her body heavy with sorrow, her spirit dimmed by the sting of betrayal—not just by Jerry, but by those who had stood by and let it happen. Friends who watched her fall and said nothing. London, once the shimmering city of possibility, now felt like a prison of broken illusions. Her eyes drifted to the corner, where her suitcases sat zipped and ready. They held everything she'd brought here—clothes, shoes, and remnants of hope. Next to them, the return ticket to Brooklyn lay waiting, silent and inevitable. That ticket wasn't just a way home—it was a symbol of surrender. A quiet acceptance that the dream was over.

For one fleeting month, she had lived in color. She had let herself fall, let herself hope, let herself love. But reality had come knocking, and it was merciless. And now, all that remained was a quiet room, a closed gate, and the echo of what might have been. She would go back. Back to her books, her quiet routines, her Brooklyn family house that always smelled faintly of coffee and old pages. Back to safety, yes. But also back to solitude. She would carry her broken heart in silence, because she knew now... fairy tales don't come true for everyone.

And sometimes, the greatest love stories are the ones that never get to be written.