At the end of books and movies, you always see the girl either rescue herself or the guy rescues her. He comes in panicked, worried—but what they don’t tell you is so often it’s not like that.

So freaking often, it’s loneliness and despair, it’s bitterness and agony.

It’s not Disney.

I’m not Cinderella, even though for just a small moment, it kind of felt like a fairy tale. Maybe I’m too old to believe in them anymore because they aren’t something to believe in when all you have is yourself.

A horn honks, then honks again. I know it can’t be Ambrose; he’s still recovering from major surgery, but for one fleeting moment, my heart skips a beat, and I imagine him pulling over in one of his fancy cars and saying.

“Need a ride?”

I smile to myself. What a great fantasy, what a great dream. Maybe if I just stand still and let the wind blow against my face, I can have those moments of peace. I can build my own ending.

A tear slides down my cheek and onto the concrete in front of me.

I look down at my broken slides.

That first day with Ambrose in the bathroom.

Him kissing me in the kitchen.

Eating all the food.

Him taking me as I am, as I was, as I will always be.

The pool.

Quinn.

My hands start to shake.

I turn to the left. I’m on a bridge that leads right into downtown.

It would be easy. A voice whispers and taunts me to just take those memories and moments and keep them forever in my dreams, an eternal sleep.

I have perfect hope for the first time.

“That sounds nice,” I whisper to myself as I look out at the river; the sound of the water almost cools me down for a minute. “It’s dark, peaceful, deep… maybe if you fall into its depths, you’ll be set free.”

My hands shake as I drop the trash bag and grip the edges of the railing. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. But is this what people experience when the lights fade? When they’ve lost everything they were living for or suddenly realize it was all a lie, or maybe they were the problem all along.

I’ve been tempted by Ambrose.

Even Quinn.

I’ve been tempted by hope.

Dreams.

Tempted to steal away and give.

Right now, I’m tempted to take one step, one more grip. I’m tempted to do something I can’t come back from because something so against my character, something that would destroy everything, almost makes sense.

It should have been me in that car.

Me in that accident.

My sacrifice.

Is that selfish?

I stand up on my tiptoes, brace myself against the bridge, and then lean over it.

A few seconds go by.

I count to ten.

Strong arms embrace me from behind. The smell’s familiar.

“Don’t you dare.” The low voice rasps in my ear. “Do you even realize how long I’ve been looking for you?”