I glanced up. Renee was staring out the window, her face tight with worry. I knew that look—it was the same one she wore right after she and Phil got married, before I left for Forks.
Normally, it would have bothered me. Now, the emptiness inside me swallowed everything. Nothing touched me anymore.
I forced the memories back and looked down at my paper. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be anywhere. It didn’t matter where I slept—the nightmares always found me. His words echoed in my mind, cutting through the numbness like broken glass:
It will be as if I never existed.
I folded inward, clutching my arms around my chest as my breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. Had he even meant it when he said that? Had he thought it through? The damage was already done, carved deep. Time hadn’t dulled it. Leaving Forks hadn’t dulled it. The pain was just… constant.
Tears stung at the edges of my eyes, but I fought them off. I’d only been here a week, and Renee hated seeing me like this—just like Charlie had. And like Charlie, she’d given up trying to fix me. She knew she couldn’t.
I dragged the numbness back over me like a blanket. It dulled the ache, if only barely. I slowed my breathing, uncurled my arms, and stared blankly at my homework until the fog settled over me again. Then I blinked and kept working. This was the routine now. Since that first week.
I’d missed school. Charlie hadn’t said much—he just accepted it. The stupor hit the moment I realized he’d taken my things. I’d collapsed on the floor and cried myself to sleep right there on the hardwood. When I woke up, the grief had calcified. I moved through the days like a shadow.
As I finished my paper and tucked it into my book, my thoughts drifted back to a week ago.
Charlie had come downstairs. I was at the kitchen table, staring out the window toward the woods—the place I’d last seen him. My cereal sat untouched, soggy. I remember the way the spoon felt heavy in my hand as I slowly swirled the milk.
Charlie hadn’t said a word. He just picked up the phone and called Renee. To my surprise, she and Phil were already in Forks, staying in a motel. I hadn’t known until later that Charlie had been planning to send me away. They were just waiting for the signal.
I didn’t hear the conversation. I didn’t know what was happening until I heard footsteps upstairs. The three of them had stormed into my room while I still sat at the table, staring. I was pulled out of it only when I realized my cereal bowl was gone—washed and put away.
I dragged myself upstairs—and snapped. They were in my room, packing. Charlie and Renee were stuffing clothes into my suitcase. Phil was jamming things from my closet into my backpack. I understood instantly and lost it. I screamed. I dumped the suitcase out onto the floor, shouted that I wasn’t going anywhere. I told them I needed to stay in Forks. That I had to stay.
They said it was for the best. I didn’t believe them. I still don’t. Even now, I’d rather be in Forks. As long as the clouds covered the sky, I could pretend he was still there. Somewhere.
The fight got ugly. I let my guard down and the memories hit me all at once. I collapsed, sobbing so hard I thought I might come apart. They left me there for hours. I thought maybe they’d given up.
But they came back—more determined. Charlie and Phil carried me down the stairs while Renee repacked everything. I screamed. I kicked. They strapped me into the car like I was a child throwing a tantrum. Charlie rode in the back with me the whole way, probably afraid I’d try to run.
And in truth, I thought I might have—given the chance.
By the time we reached Phoenix, I had nothing left. I sank into that dream-state and stayed there. That first night, I woke Renee with my screaming. She came in, sat on my bed, whispered soft things to me. She tried again the next night—but after that, she stopped. Just like Charlie had.
It was dark now. I didn’t remember climbing into bed, but the sheets were tangled around me, damp with sweat. I must have thrashed. I must have cried out. I didn’t know. Time didn’t mean much anymore.
Eventually, sleep dragged me under.
***
And I was in the forest again.
Everything was dim, the light filtered in patches through the heavy clouds and thick canopy. The air was damp and cold, clinging to my skin like fog. The trees towered around me—dark, silent, unmoving. The world felt abandoned. Hollow.
I was searching.
I didn’t know what I was looking for, only that I had to find it. Something precious. Something vital. Something that made my chest tighten with urgency and dread. It was like chasing a name I couldn’t remember, a feeling I couldn’t hold onto—but I knew it mattered. Everything depended on it. My breath. My sanity. My life.
Leaves crackled underfoot. I pushed through brambles and branches that scraped my arms and tugged at my clothes. The more I walked, the more frantic I became. Every direction looked the same. Every tree wore the same expressionless face. I swore I saw signs—footprints, broken twigs, something familiar—but they vanished when I looked again, leaving me more confused. More lost.
Panic simmered in my chest.
And then I felt it—that slow, creeping awareness that I’d passed the point of return. That I’d gone too far. The forest was swallowing me, and whatever I’d come here to find… it wasn’t here. Maybe it never was.
I turned in circles, searching the gloom, heart pounding in my ears. The wind picked up, whistling through the branches like it was trying to tell me something. But it didn’t sound like comfort. It sounded like mourning.
Then I knew—with the kind of certainty that drops like a stone in your gut—I’d lost it. Not misplaced. Not delayed. Lost.
Gone.
The realization hollowed me out. My knees gave way and I dropped to the forest floor. Dirt pressed into my palms. I dug my fingers in like I could anchor myself, but it didn’t help. My chest opened wide, as if invisible hands had torn it apart. Not metaphorically. Not in a poetic way. I felt it—the tearing, the absence, the gaping wound where my heart used to live.
I tried to scream, but no sound came. Just breath. Just shaking. Just the ache of needing something that wasn’t coming back. Something that had never really been mine to begin with.
The trees watched silently.
I was small. I was broken. I was alone.
And there was nothing left to find.
1.7562 Billion Miles 