Page 74 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

If you love me, don’t call. Don’t try.

Just let this be our last goodbye.

—Emily

27B

COLE

It takes Matt and me four hours to pack up everything in my room.

I’ve arranged to move into my new place early. To start my next chapter sooner than planned.

I can’t stand to breathe the same air or share any space with Emily if I can’t have her.

And I love her enough to give her what she wants.

For now.

I lock the balcony door. Then the door to my room—for the last time.

And with that, I leave the Hamptons behind.

Hopefully for good.

PART 5

Don’t light yourself on fire to keep someone else warm.

Burn everything in sight, so they can feel your pain, too.

28

EMILY

Months later

There’s something surreal about pulling up the hill to Lothrop Hall. The sun catches the glass of the hospital nearby, throwing gold streaks over the city skyline. The trees around the University of Pittsburgh feel greener, taller—like they’ve grown up with the students who’ve come and gone.

And now I’m one of them.

Lothrop’s the only dorm with single rooms, and I couldn’t be more grateful. My lucky streak of never having to share a space with anyone is still going strong. The only things we share are the bathrooms. Just like at home.

I try not to think about home.

My mom’s here. So is Aidan. And I’m more than ready to escape them both. The past few weeks have been unbearable—their constant wedding glow, their loud planning sessions for a future I was never invited into. I’ve never felt more alone. Not with Cole.

Especially not with Cole.

I’ve cried myself to sleep too many nights to count. My notebooks are filled with words I’ll never say, filled with things I’ll never let him read. But deep down, I keep telling myself I did the right thing.

At least…I hope I did.

While Aidan poses in the hallway—signing autographs and taking selfies with swooning fans—my mom helps me tape up photos along the wall like nothing’s wrong. Like she hasn’t shattered a hundred small things and called it motherhood.

“I’ll send you pictures of our real house for whenever you’re on fall break,” she says.

I don’t respond.

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