111 Days to Go

[-7 Days to go]: Broken Promise

The faint glow of the phone screen illuminated my tear-streaked face. It was a picture of us - me and Ellie, arms wrapped around each other, faces beaming with a kind of joy that felt like a lifetime ago. With trembling fingers, I swiped left. Delete.

One by one, the photos disappeared - stolen moments of happiness, goofy selfies, everything that documented our story together. Each swipe felt like a fresh stab of guilt, a reminder of the promise I'd broken. Tears welled up again, blurring the remaining images on the screen. But I continued, a relentless storm of deleting, washing away the past.

The silence of the room pressed down on me, broken only by the choked sobs that wracked my body. Memories, both happy and painful, flooded back, a tide threatening to drown me...

The first memory was a burst of sunshine and laughter. The university quad, alive with the energy of a new semester, was where we met. Ellie, with her sunshine-blonde hair and infectious smile, had literally bumped into me, sending my books scattering. Laughter had replaced apologies, and that easy connection had sparked something new in my world.

Then came the stolen glances across crowded lecture halls, late-night study sessions that morphed into whispered secrets, and the exhilarating rush of holding Ellie's hand for the first time. I, who had always preferred the comfort of solitude, found myself basking in the warmth of her presence. Ellie, in turn, reveled in my quiet strength, a stark contrast to her own bubbly personality. We were an unlikely pair, yet perfectly complementary.

The happy memories bled into the arguments, fueled by misunderstandings and insecurities. My possessiveness clashed with Ellie's free spirit. Words turned harsh, laced with unspoken hurt. The echo of our last fight, a cruel exchange that ended with a slammed door, twisted the knife in my gut even sharper.

The memory of making up was tinged with sadness. Ellie, with tear-stained cheeks but a hopeful smile, had reached for my hand. We had spent that night talking, laying bare our vulnerabilities, and emerging stronger, our love vowing to weather any storm.

But the final memory was a chilling one. Ellie, eyes shadowed with a darkness I hadn't recognized, had whispered, "Promise me you'll always be happy, no matter what." Me, wrapped in the false security of a rekindled love, had readily promised. The memory dissolved into a choked sob, the weight of that broken promise a crushing burden on my chest.

The silence returned, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. Each ragged breath hitched in my throat, a counterpoint to the relentless drumming of tears against my cheeks. My vision blurred, but through the haze, the stark white of the headstone materialized. It wasn't the weathered grey marble I expected, but a stark white slab, the surface smooth and cold, reflecting the dying light of the day.

Etched on its pristine surface was Ellie's full name, Eleanor Rose Miller, a name that once brought a smile to my lips, now a source of unbearable pain. Below it, a vibrant sunflower - Ellie's favorite - bloomed defiantly against the white backdrop. The final inscription, carved in a delicate script, sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over me.

"Eleanor Rose Miller, April 10th, 2024. Forever loved, forever missed."

April 10th. Our anniversary. The date mocked me, a cruel reminder of the future we were supposed to have. A future stolen, a life extinguished, by a decision I couldn't begin to understand.