I’ve had almost an entire day to come to terms with the fact that Nash is no longer mine, nor will he ever be mine again. And it hurts more than I could have ever been prepared for it to hurt. Last night was spent crying into a half-empty bottle of wine while listening to my Spotify playlist of saddest songs. I cried so many tears. And even now, with no more tears to cry, it still sits like a painful lump at the back of my throat.

I’m not sure how I’m going to be able do it: go there tonight to celebrate with them, spend the rest of the week making their wedding cake, and watching on Saturday as they become husband and wife while acting as if everything is fine when deep down it’s anything but okay, like a rusted blade slicing through my gut. But, when the doubt begins to get the better of me, I remind myself that first and foremost, Nash is my friend, and I owe it to him to be the happy and supportive Murph that I’ve always been. But it still kills me like crazy.

As I sit at my dressing table fastening a small gold hoop into each of my earlobes, I think back to the night I first realized I’d fallen in love with Nash Harris. I was only 14, but even at an age when marriage should have been the last thing on my mind, that was the night I thought maybe I would one day be the woman lucky enough to become his wife.

I woke with a start. My eyes flew open as I searched the darkness surrounding me. My heart raced without me knowing why. But when something hit my window, I breathed a sigh of relief realizing it was the tapping of the glass that had woken me from my dreams. Throwing my covers off, I crawled down to the foot of my bed, and pulled the curtains aside. I looked down to the front yard, gasping at the silhouette standing by the elm tree. His hood was pulled low over his head, covering most of his face, but I could tell it was him, and I knew immediately something was wrong. He hadn’t come here in the middle of the night since the last time.

Suddenly my heart felt as if it had climbed to the back of my throat. Jumping out of bed, I shoved my feet into my slippers, tiptoeing past my momma’s bedroom, hurrying as fast as I could downstairs. I stopped at the front door, holding my breath a moment before lifting the latch and pulling it open. The cool night breeze blew in from outside, shocking me, and I shivered.

“Nash?” I whispered through the silence, searching the front yard for him.

A shadowy figure appeared from behind the thick trunk of the elm tree, and I watched with a furrowed brow as he limped unsteadily through the darkness. When he came into the light of the moon, I couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of him. With a split lip and a black eye, he was hunched forward, clutching his side, his face distorted in pain with every step he took. He stopped on the porch in front of me, and I could feel my eyes prick with the threat of tears. But I knew it was my job to remain strong. He needed me. So, without saying a word, I ushered him inside, quietly closing the front door behind us before taking his hand in mine and carefully helping him upstairs.