Mara got promoted. Big promotion. Different city. Different life.
Her last day at work was chaos—meetings, emails, rushed hugs. She waved at me from across the office, mouthed “Thank you,” and then she was gone. No goodbye. No long conversation. No closure.
I felt foolish. Embarrassed. Like I’d poured a year of my life into something that evaporated without a trace. My boyfriend didn’t say “I told you so,” but he didn’t need to.
Three weeks later, an envelope arrived in my mailbox.
Inside were two plane tickets and a handwritten letter.
“Come visit,” it said. Nothing more.
I almost didn’t go. Pride is a stubborn thing. But curiosity won.
When I landed, Mara was waiting at the airport with her kids. They screamed my name and ran into me like I’d never left. I blinked hard, suddenly unable to speak.
At her new apartment, she asked me to sit down. Her hands were shaking. She placed a set of car keys in my palm.
“It’s yours,” she said, already crying. “Paid in full.”
