For You

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Amelia's pov

Flight to the Unknown

They say heartbreak changes you. I never understood that—until now. With each step toward the boarding gate, I felt like I was shedding my old skin, leaving behind the girl who once believed in Eric Williamson’s empty promises.

France.

It sounded dreamy when said aloud, like an escape. But it wasn’t just a vacation or a fresh start—it was an unplanned turning point, a leap I was forced to take before I was ready.

The airport was cold, sterile. The kind of place where people say goodbye to entire chapters of their lives. I stood still, soaking in the chaos, as Suzzie held me in a hug that didn’t want to end.

“You better call me the second you land, or I swear I’ll fly there myself,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I will,” I whispered, holding back the lump in my throat.

Maria wasn’t there. I didn’t blame her—she was never as close to me as Suzzie was, and maybe she still blamed me for brushing off her warning last night. I had ignored her, and maybe that hurt her more than I realized.

And then, like a bad omen, Anna showed up.

My cousin. The traitor.

She came with her parents—Uncle Jake and Aunt Bella—who smiled politely as if they hadn’t raised a girl who just helped ruin my relationship.

“France will be good for you,” Anna said with forced kindness, the kind that scratched beneath the surface. “Maybe we all needed this change.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. The image of her tangled up with Eric was still seared into my memory. Her voice sounded like static.

Eric didn’t show up.

And that, somehow, hurt more than seeing him cheat. No apology. No guilt. No attempt to fix what he broke. I was just... replaced. Erased.

Maybe it was for the best.

Boarding was called. Mom nudged me gently, and Dad gave me a reassuring smile, the kind that told me he knew I was breaking inside but wouldn’t force me to speak about it.

As I stepped onto the plane, I took a deep breath, trying to swallow the ache in my chest. I glanced one last time over my shoulder, hoping Suzzie would still be there—and she was. She waved, teary-eyed, mouthing words I couldn’t hear but knew by heart: You’ll be okay.

The plane took off, slicing through clouds heavy with yesterday’s pain.

Somewhere across the ocean was Carver Anderson—my childhood friend. The boy who used to hold my hand during thunderstorms and say we’d get married when we grew up.

We lost touch after my twelfth birthday. My parents and I had moved for a year, and by the time we came back, Carver's family had left for Europe. I never forgot him, but I never imagined I’d actually see him again.

Now fate—or maybe heartbreak—was taking me right to him.

I leaned back in my seat, staring out the window as the skyline of my past disappeared beneath the clouds.

I didn’t know what France would hold for me. I didn’t know what Carver had become, or if he’d even remember me. But I did know this:

Whatever came next, it had to be better than what I left behind.

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