The Wolf’s Last Promise

POV: Scarlett I wake up because the mail truck squeaks. Its brakes sound like a scream. My heart jumps before my feet touch the cold floor. I ran downstairs. Two envelopes sit on the rug. One is white like snow. One is pink like bubble gum. Both have my name. I picked them up. My fingers shake. The white one is thin. The pink one is fat. I open the thin one first. Paper slips out. Black letters say: Test results. Cancer. Last stage. I stop breathing. The room spins. I sit on the step before I fall. I opened the pink one. A card. Silver writing. Flowers. Music notes. It says wedding. It says Everett. It says Amelia. My husband. His ex. Next week. Same date as my birthday. My tummy hurts. My eyes burn. I dropped both papers. They float like feathers. They land like rocks. I look at my ring. It feels heavy. Too tight. I twist it. It will not move. My skin is stuck. My heart is stuck. My life is stuck. I hear Everett in the kitchen. He hums. He pours coffee. He does not know I know. I want to yell. I want to cry. I want to run. I do nothing. I picked up the papers. I fold them small. I hide them in my sleeve. I walk to the kitchen. He smiles. His eyes are gray like rain. They used to feel warm. Today they feel far away. He sips. He says, “Morning.” I nod. My tongue is glued. I pour cereal. Milk splashes. Spoon clinks. Sounds are loud. Thoughts are louder. I eat one bite. It tastes like paper. I push the bowl away. I say, “I need air.” I go outside. Cold bites my cheeks. I breathe white clouds. I look at the sky. It is gray like him. I look at the ground. It is hard like the truth. I pull the papers out. I read them again. Maybe words change. They do not. Cancer. Wedding. Both are true. Both mine. Both are broken. I crunch across the frost. I reach the mailbox again. It is empty. It feels like a joke. The world laughs. I do not. I walk back inside. Everett is gone. His cup is warm. His phone is on the table. It buzzes. Name pops: Amelia. Heart emoji. I drop the phone. Screen cracks. Sound cracks me. I go upstairs. I opened the closet. I pulled a small bag. I throw in jeans. Two shirts. One sweater. Toothbrush. I zip. I stop. I look at the bed. Our bed. His pillow. My pillow. I touch the dent where he sleeps. I leave the ring on the dent. Circle of gold. Circle of done. I grab papers. I shove it in my pocket. I walk down the hall. I saw a photo of us. Laughing. Holding. I turn it face down. Glass cracks more. I keep walking. I reach the door. Hand on knob. Footsteps behind me. Everett voice: “Where are you going?”