When I’m through in the living room, I give the bedroom another pass. Emptying every single drawer, I make sure nothing of hers remains. Clothes flutter to floor, like thoughts of Grace, whispering in the wind.

But when I open the drawer on my nightstand, my world stops spinning.

A black, velvet box sits in the shallow wooden drawer. Too afraid to open it, but too curious not to, I hold it in my hands, turning it over time and time again.

Only the sound of someone walking up my stairs pulls me from my frenzy.

Moving with as much speed as I can, I hobble into the living room only to see Grace. Her face is tear-stained, her eyes puffy and swollen. Holding a crumpled letter in her hand, she stalks toward me.

“The way I deserved to be loved?” Anger permeates her words, her voice wobbling, bordering on out of control. Shaking the letter in my face, I recognize the words as my own. “You’re sorry?” Venom mingles through her words as she mocks mine. “In another life? What about this one?”

Frozen on the spot, I can’t find anything to say. She mistakes my silence for not caring. Stepping right into my face, she pounds her clenched fists against my chest. “I love you.” The paper crinkles in her hands. “I loved you then and I love you now. Don’t you see that?” Sobs wrack her body and the pounding subsides. She can barely catch her breath, but she talks through her breathless crying. “It’s always been you. From that moment you saved me all those years ago, you’re the only person I held in my heart.” With her energy spent, she relents on hitting me, letting her arms fall to the side. “You left your key,” she murmurs, resting her head against my chest.

Trying not to touch her is like trying not to breath. Reaching up, I stroke my hands through her hair, it’s deep red color calling to me to smooth it out of her face. “Shh,” I calm her. But all we both hear is the sound of a black velvet box dropping to the floor.

It pops open, displaying what I knew in my gut it would reveal. “What is that?” Shock washes over her, twisting her face into a painful sort of agony. “No,” she begs, covering her eyes. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what could’ve been.” Stepping back from me, she back peddles only to meet the wall behind her. Repeating, “no” over and over again, the sobs return. She slides down the wall, cupping her hand over her mouth. Curled into a ball, she cries into her hands, broken and shattered and it’s all my fault.

With the closed box in my hand, I move to sit next to her. Flinching away from my touch, she cries even more. “No,” she repeats again. “I can’t. It’s too much to take in.”

And it is.

Call it a sense of morbid curiosity, but I need to see what’s inside. Cracking open the box once again, a shimmer of light shines in my eye. I’d love to say that in that moment, when the sparkle of diamond nearly blinds me, that all of my memories return, every flash and flare of color coming back to life as if the answer simply lay within this small black, velvet box.

That’s not at all what happens.

I close the box, letting my head hang in my hands,

Grace and I sit beside each other, slumped against the wall.

Pieces of something significant scatter around me, but like a child trying to capture lightning bugs on a summer night, the light eludes me. My mind reaches for the thoughts, like hands outstretched ready to catch the green-tailed bug, but it collapses before anything real comes to fruition.

Her voice breaks through the tension-filled silence. “I would have said yes.”

And with those words, a lightning bug lands in my hands.

“She’ll say yes,” Grace’s mom gasped. Looking down at the ring, she covers her mouth with her hand, and I smiled knowing that Grace does the exact same thing when she’s surprised. “It’s beautiful.”

Clapping a hand to my shoulder, her father smiled at me as well. “Nothing would make me and Meredith happier than to see the two of you getting married. Of course you have our blessing.”

Her younger sister even began to cry, going on and on about how lucky Grace was. They all surrounded me, hugging me with all their might. It was the perfect welcome into the family.

Replaying the scene on an endless loop in my brain, I make sure what I’m remembering is something that actually happened, that it’s not something I simply willed into existence. Unable to keep it to myself any longer, I turn to her. Her face is blotchy and her breath is still uneven, shuddery with the lingering sobs.

“I remember asking your parents.” My admission makes her face pale. She twists to look at me, saying nothing but seeming as if every word imaginable is flying through her brain. “They gave me their blessing.”

She nods, tears streaming down her face. She continues to cry, but when I reach for her she pushes me away. “I can’t. Wait . . . give me a . . . I don’t know what to . . . it’s all too much.” My returning memories take her breath away, but she loses the ability to speak.

A crazy idea blooms to life in my fucked-up head. “What if,” I begin to question, gathering some courage in the hopes that maybe I haven’t ruined us beyond repair. She shakes her head, as if that will stop me from saying what I need to say. “If I can only remember parts of our past, is that enough? If I can only love you for who we are now, is that enough?”

Tears flow down her cheeks. She shakes her head and pulls herself from the ground. “I need space. I need to breathe and figure this out.”

Without another word, she walks out of my apartment, carrying my heart in her hands.

Is it enough?

Numbly, I walk down his stairs, knowing full well that he can’t chase after me. Thankful for that space, I step into my car, gripping the steering wheel as if my life depends on it.

Resting my head against the cool leather, I take a few deep breaths and manage to calm myself down.

He was going to ask me to marry him.

And then my world broke in half.

Is it enough?

“Is it enough?” I scoff his ridiculous question to no one but myself.

Annoyance and anger war inside me, forcing me from the car.

With renewed determination, I climb his stairs, willing myself to remain as calm as possible. When I look into the living room, I see him sitting on the couch, facing away from me. His shoulders are slumped, the box sitting on the table.

“No, it won’t be enough.” My words fall to his back and he stands up. Dejection fills his face as he turns to me. As I walk over to him, I continue, “It’ll never ever be enough.”

Standing in front of him now, I force myself not to reach for him. Not to kiss him as if my next breath has to come from his lungs. “Every day that I get to spend with you, loving you, it will never be enough. Because I could love you . . .” My ability not to touch him wavers and I rest my hand over his heart. “I could love who you are today, who you were yesterday, and who you’ll be tomorrow with everything that I am and it still wouldn’t be enough.” His heart beats wildly under my hand. Smiling up at him, my anger and frustration dissipates, replaced by warmth and happiness. “I could love you every single day for the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“But what if I–”

“Don’t remember what we used to be, how you used to love me?” I finish his sentence for him, only allowing him the space to nod. “You don’t get it. I don’t care about what you can remember.”

“You don’t?” His brows knot in confusion.

“I never did. All I ever wanted was for you to let me in now. I don’t care about what your head remembers, only your heart.” Reaching to cup my face, he strokes his thumb over my cheek. Leaning into his touch, I feel like I can breathe again. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for what feels like forever.” Gently, he reaches his other hand up to the other side of my face.