The Diary Entries

I didn’t know why I’d opened the diary again. It wasn’t like I hadn’t memorized every word. Each line, each letter, was etched into my mind like a scar that refused to fade. But tonight, under the soft light of a single lamp in my tiny apartment, I needed to feel his words beneath my fingertips. The weight of them. The way they seemed to bleed off the page, staining my hands with truths I wished I could forget.

 

March 12th.

I saw her today.

 

My breath hitched. The beginning was always the hardest. He was always so deliberate with his entries, as if he knew I’d hang on every word.

 

I thought I could move on. I thought being with her—Claudia—would make things easier. But it doesn’t. She’s not you, Zetta. She never could be.

 

I let out a breath. He used to say my name like that, soft and reverent, as if it were sacred. I could almost hear his voice now, whispering it into the hollow of my neck on those nights when the world felt small and it was just us against everything else.

 

But I don’t know how to fix this. Claudia needs me. And I promised her I’d stay.

 

He promised her. The words were a knife in my chest every time. He always chose her. Even when his heart was elsewhere, even when he was holding me, it was Claudia who owned his promises.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. My hands trembled, and I knew if I let myself fall into the black hole of memory, I wouldn’t claw my way out. Not tonight. But that was the thing about grief—it didn’t ask for permission.

I could still see him the last time we met.

Sitting on the tailgate of his truck, by the lake.

The way his eyes looked—haunted but alive, like he’d just realized he could breathe again.

He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.

He said he was sorry, but sorry wasn’t enough.

“Why her, Jed?” I had whispered, tears choking my voice. “Why not me?”

He never answered. Just looked at me with that same, damn, tortured expression and walked away.

I shook my head and returned to the diary. His words were all I had left now, even if they felt like poison in my veins.

 

March 19th.

Claudia’s talking about moving away. She says a fresh start would be good for us. I don’t know if I can go through with it, but she’s right. She deserves better than this half-life I’ve given her.

 

A sharp knock on the door startled me. My heart leapt, and for a fleeting second, I imagined him standing there, drenched from the rain, begging me to come back.

But when I opened the door, it was only my neighbor, Mrs. Parker, holding a package. Her lined face softened when she saw me, her usual warmth breaking through the worry in her eyes.

“Sorry to bother you, dear,” she said, handing me the box. “This was left outside my door by mistake.”

I thanked her and shut the door quickly, not in the mood for small talk. The package was nondescript, brown paper wrapped around a rectangular shape. No return address. My name written in bold, black ink.

Curiosity won out, and I tore it open. Inside was another journal, this one unfamiliar. Its cover was a deep, wine-red leather, and the pages smelled faintly of cedar. A note slipped out as I flipped it open.

 

Zetta,

You need to know the truth.

 

That was it. No signature. No explanation. My pulse raced as I turned the pages. The handwriting wasn’t Jed’s, but it was someone who knew him—someone who had been close enough to see what I hadn’t.

 

March 25th.

He’s slipping away, and I don’t know how to stop it. Jed’s heart isn’t with me anymore. It’s with her. Zetta.

 

Claudia. The realization hit me like a freight train. This was her diary. But how? Why would she send it to me?

The next entry was messier, the handwriting jagged, as though she’d written it in a rush.

 

April 1st.

I followed him today. I knew he was lying about where he was going. He went to her. Zetta. They sat on his tailgate by the lake, the place where he said he used to feel peace. I could see the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing holding him together.

 

I swallowed hard. My hands shook as I read the next line.

 

I can’t lose him. I won’t.

 

The words were a declaration, as if she were willing them into existence.

The entries grew darker after that. She wrote about their arguments, his distance, the way he flinched when she touched him. But what stood out most was her desperation. She wasn’t just losing him—she was unraveling.

 

April 14th.

He thinks he can leave me. But I’ll make sure he never does.

 

I stopped breathing. The diary slipped from my hands, falling to the floor with a dull thud. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of memories, conversations, and things that never quite added up.

Jed hadn’t just disappeared. He was taken from me.

I grabbed my coat, adrenaline surging through me. I didn’t care if it was the middle of the night. I needed answers, and I knew exactly where to find them.

Claudia’s house was on the edge of town, a sprawling, old Victorian that looked more like a mausoleum than a home. I stood at the front door, my fist hovering over the wood. Before I could knock, the door creaked open.

Claudia stood there, her face pale, her eyes hollow. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.

“You got the diary,” she said, her voice flat.

“You sent it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She nodded. “You needed to know.”

My anger flared. “Know what? That you destroyed him? That you couldn’t stand the idea of him being happy without you?”

Her eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. But there was also a hint of something else. Resignation.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” she said, stepping aside to let me in.

I followed her into the dimly lit living room. On the coffee table was a framed photo of the two of them, smiling and carefree, from a time when things were simpler.

“Where is he, Claudia?” I demanded.

She sank into the armchair, her hands trembling. “He’s gone, Zetta. He left that night, after our last fight. Said he was going to be with you. But he never made it.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. “What do you mean he never made it?”

Tears streamed down her face. “The storm. The roads were slick. His car—” She broke off, her voice cracking. “They said it was instant. He didn’t suffer.”

The room spun around me. I clutched the back of the couch to steady myself.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, you’re lying.”

She reached for another envelope on the table, her hands shaking as she handed it to me. It was sealed, my name written on the front in Jed’s handwriting.

I tore it open, my vision blurred with tears.

 

Zetta,

If you’re reading this, it means I couldn’t find the words in person. I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I can’t keep living a lie. I’m coming to you tonight. I’ll explain everything when I see you.

 

The letter fell from my hands as a sob tore from my throat. He was coming to me. He chose me. And now he was gone.

Claudia’s voice was a whisper. “I wanted to hate you. But I loved him too much. I couldn’t keep this from you.”

I looked at her, broken and haunted, and realized that in some twisted way, we were both victims of the same love.

In that moment, forgiveness felt impossible, but so did hate. We were two women left in the ruins of a man who’d tried to love us both but couldn’t save himself from the weight of it.

The past couldn’t be changed, but the truth? That was something I could finally hold onto.