Chapter 2: Aubrey’s Confession

When my business trip ended, I had just finished packing when Natalie called me: “Honey, Mom’s old illness flared up again. She’s in the hospital now, so I can’t pick you up at the airport tonight.”

Her voice was laced with exhaustion but still so steady, the way she always kept things together when I was away. I could picture her at the hospital, probably running on vending machine coffee and three hours of sleep.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to come. Is Mom okay?”

I tried to sound calm, even as my mind darted to worst-case scenarios—white hospital sheets, the antiseptic smell, the beep of monitors.

“It’s nothing serious. The doctor just wants her to stay for a couple of days for observation. I’m here with her, so don’t worry.”

There was always something grounding in her voice, like she could talk me down from any ledge. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Thank you, honey. I’m so lucky to have you.”

The words felt small compared to everything she did, but they were all I had.

Natalie sent me a photo of my mom happily eating fruit in her hospital bed. Natalie’s face peeked in from the side, making a peace sign.

The sunlight streaming through the window caught her hair, making it almost glow. I chuckled. Trust Natalie to turn even a hospital room into a slice of home.

I couldn’t help but smile at the photo.

Even a thousand miles away, she could still find a way to make me feel warm and anchored. My thumb lingered on the image longer than I’d admit.

I met Natalie through a dating app. At that time, I’d just broken up with my ex-girlfriend a week earlier.

It was one of those swipe-right stories you don’t expect to mean anything. But her bio had a line about loving old jazz records and cherry pie, and that was it for me.

I felt like my whole life had hit rock bottom.

I’d stopped shaving, skipped meals, let dishes pile up in the sink until the kitchen smelled like old takeout.

I was drowning in self-doubt, convinced I was a loser.

Every time my phone buzzed, I hoped it was Aubrey, even though I knew it wouldn't be. The silence just pressed in, suffocating.

It was Natalie who pulled me out. She was like a little sun, lighting up my world when I needed it most.

Our first date was at a little diner off Main Street, the kind with sticky vinyl booths and bottomless coffee. She smiled at the waitress, tipped well, and laughed at my dumb jokes. Somehow, the air felt lighter with her there.

It was still early for my flight, so I sat in the hotel, fiddling with my phone out of boredom.

The room was too quiet, the ticking of the wall clock loud in my ears. I scrolled through social media just to drown out the silence.

Suddenly, I saw my ex-girlfriend Aubrey’s post on her Instagram story.

[The ocean is so blue, life is so long—Aubrey won’t give up.]

Her caption was vintage Aubrey: dramatic, a little poetic, always hinting at something more. The photo was a filtered slice of summer, all effortless glamour.

The picture was of her in sunglasses, lounging on a beach chair, smiling contentedly.

She looked like a postcard from a life I thought I’d never get to visit again. There was a cocktail in her hand, sand between her toes, and that grin that used to undo me.

Her location was tagged as Savannah Beach.

Immediately, my mind snapped back to the present. Savannah—of all places. Was the universe messing with me?

My heart started racing. I felt like her post meant she wasn’t doing that well.

Maybe it was the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, or maybe it was just wishful thinking—hoping she missed me, too.

I left a tentative comment:

“Are you in Savannah?”

My thumb hovered over the send button longer than necessary. It felt like shouting into a canyon, unsure if I'd hear anything back but my own echo.

I didn’t expect her to reply.

After everything that went down between us, I figured I was just a ghost in her digital life. Still, I kept her on my feed, unable to let go.

Back then, our breakup was ugly, but I could never bring myself to unfollow her on Instagram.

Every now and then, I’d scroll back through her old photos—college football games, cherry blossom picnics, late-night taco runs. It was like flipping through someone else's yearbook, but it was all mine once.

I was like a rat hiding in the shadows, peeking at her life through a crack in the door.

A part of me knew it was pathetic, but I couldn’t help myself. Heartbreak makes you do stupid things.

Later, she posted less and less, and I got less and less information about her.

Each silence felt like a new rejection, like she was slowly erasing me from her life.

I was depressed for a while because of this. I even wondered if she was still posting, just blocking me from seeing it.

I even created a burner account once just to check. It was low, I know, but the need to know was stronger than my pride.

[Yeah, I’m in Savannah for a work retreat.]

Her reply lit up my phone like fireworks. My breath hitched, and my hands shook a little as I read it over and over.

I didn’t expect her to reply so quickly.

It was like she’d been waiting, too. Or maybe I was just reading into things, the way you do when your heart’s on the line.

I immediately sent her a DM: [I’m on a business trip in Savannah too. Want to meet up?]

My pulse thudded in my ears as I hit send. I tried not to overthink it, but every second felt like an hour.

I still didn’t expect her to reply. But deep down, I was secretly hoping she would.

I told myself I’d be fine if she didn’t, but I knew I’d be disappointed. You can’t lie to yourself about things like this.

She didn’t respond right away.

The minutes dragged. I kept refreshing the app, pretending I wasn’t obsessed.

I kept checking my phone, afraid I’d miss her message.

I even turned up the volume, just in case the notification sound got lost in the airport noise.

Finally, three hours later, just as I was about to board the plane, she replied:

[Sure. How about nine o’clock tomorrow morning?]

I swear, I almost fist-pumped in the middle of the gate lounge. My cheeks hurt from grinning.

In that moment, I was as happy as a kid.

That weight I’d been carrying around just lifted. For the first time in ages, I felt... hopeful.

I hurried to tell my wife that my work schedule had changed and I’d need to stay in Savannah a few more days.

I made up something about meetings getting rescheduled. I hated lying to Natalie, but I did it anyway.

Natalie replied instantly: [Okay~ Honey, don’t work too hard!]

She added a string of heart emojis, the kind that made me feel even guiltier.

I went to get a haircut, bought a new set of clothes, and was so excited I couldn’t sleep all night.

I tossed and turned, rehearsing lines in my head—what I’d say, how I’d act. I must have checked my phone a hundred times, just to make sure she didn’t cancel.

I kept imagining how we’d meet tomorrow, what I should say to her.

Would I be cool and casual? Or would I just blurt out everything I’ve ever felt? I couldn’t decide. It was like being twenty-two again, nerves and all.

At six in the morning, I got up—even though we weren’t meeting until nine, I was already looking forward to it.

I showered, shaved, picked out my new shirt, and checked the mirror about ten times. Even the hotel coffee tasted sweeter that morning.

Eighteen years. I could finally make peace with myself.

I kept repeating that to myself, like a prayer. Maybe I’d get some closure, or maybe I’d find a new beginning. I just needed to know.

I bought the earliest ferry ticket to Tybee Island.

The salty air, the sound of gulls, the dock bustling with tourists—it all felt surreal, like I was stepping into someone else’s movie.

As soon as I entered the terminal, the first person I saw was her.

She was there, just like fate wanted it. Our eyes met, and for a second, the years just fell away.

She happened to be passing by, and I happened to be coming in.

Timing, huh? Sometimes it really is everything. We grinned like two kids caught sneaking out after curfew.

We smiled at each other.

It was an old, familiar smile—bittersweet and brand new, all at once. My heart skipped. I could already tell nothing would be the same after this.