He turned on the motor of his broken-down Dodge, the headlights blinding me to his expression before he pulled out of my driveway for the final time. I couldn’t see his little half smile, always more of an apology than any expression of happiness; I could only imagine the look in his emerald eyes, hopefully clouded with tears.

I wiped my own tears from my nose and stared at the pile of boxes beside me, illuminated by his tail-lights as he drove down the street. I bent to pick up one of the boxes; it was heavy, filled with the photos of the past three years. It landed with a satisfying thump in the trash can.

His tail-lights were gone now, and with my driveway darkened, I could no longer see the boxes clearly. Instead of struggling with them in the night, I walked up the steps into my house and closed the door on the darkness he left behind.