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We grew up side by side, building something steady and quiet and real.
That was why prom night felt like the beginning of the rest of our lives.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my dress, trying to calm my nerves. Behind me, my mom watched in silence.
“You’re too young,” she said. “This isn’t real life.”
“It feels real,” I replied.
She didn’t argue anymore. That was worse.
Ethan showed up a few minutes later, nervous in his suit, holding a corsage like it meant everything. When he slipped it onto my wrist, his hand lingered.
“You look amazing,” he said.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I smiled.
For a few hours, everything felt normal.
We danced, laughed, took pictures. Our friends joked about how we would probably end up married someday.
I believed them.
Until reality caught up with us.
“You’re leaving after graduation. End this now.”
That was what his father told him.
Ethan repeated it to me one night while we sat on the hood of his car.
“He’s serious, Izzy,” he said. “We’re moving to Europe.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
I held his hand tightly. “We’ll figure it out.”
He looked at me with something close to fear.
“I’m not giving up on us.”
“Neither am I.”
That promise carried us to the last slow dance at prom.
The lights dimmed. The music softened. He pulled me closer.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered.
“I’ll wait,” I said.
I meant it.
I just didn’t know how much it would cost.
He was gone two weeks later.
No goodbye at the airport. No closure. Just absence.
“I’ll call you,” he had said.
“I’ll be waiting.”
And I was.
At first, I believed in us.
I wrote letters. Long ones. I told him everything. I checked the mailbox every day.
Nothing came.
I tried calling.
Nothing.
Weeks turned into months. Months turned into silence.
“I miss you. Please call me.”
He never did.
My mom watched quietly.
“I told you,” she said. “These things don’t last.”
Something inside me cracked.
But I didn’t stop.
For thirteen years, I searched.
Social media. Old friends. Anything.
Nothing.