“I didn’t think it would matter.”

I said it without really thinking, the way people say things when they want to sound casual but are not. It was just a sentence, barely even a thought. We were sitting on the edge of the bleachers after school, the sky doing that pink and orange thing it always does when you stay too late. You were talking, filling the quiet with your usual half-jokes and half-rants, and I was only half-listening.

When you asked if I remembered what you told me last week, the thing you made me promise not to tell anyone, I shrugged. I laughed. I said it.

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

You stopped smiling. Not dramatically. Just enough for me to notice, which somehow made it worse. You nodded like it was fine, like you agreed, like I had not just brushed my hand over something fragile. I did not apologize. I did not explain. I let the moment pass because that is what I always do, let things pass and assume they will come back.

They did not.

After that, you started sitting somewhere else. Talking to other people. Laughing in a way that didn’t reach me anymore. I told myself it was nothing. People drift. That is normal. I pretended I did not replay that sentence in my head every night, changing the tone, the timing, the words, trying to undo it.

Weeks later, I heard you were transferring schools. A new start. Fresh air. I wanted to text you, but every message I typed sounded too late. Too heavy. Or worse, too small.

On your last day, I watched you walk down the hallway with your backpack slung over one shoulder, moving forward without looking back. That was when it hit me how easy it is to mistake silence for strength, how fast carelessness can turn into loss.

I still hear my voice sometimes, echoing in that empty space between us, sounding different now. Softer. Regret-filled. Heavy with everything I should have understood the first time.

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

I watched the fire burn, and I didn’t do a thing about it. I used one of my matches and just let the fire do its work as I waited for my water to boil. After a few minutes, I threw all the food I had left into the pot and waited a few more minutes to make sure that it was done. After days of travel, I was famished and ready to finally finish out the journey and reach the barn. I had waited years for this, and now the day had finally arrived. I quickly ate as much as I could, packed up all my things, and continued walking along the long gravel road that seemed endless from where I was standing. Walking along that road made the journey feel longer than it did. With the sun beating down on me, my water supply slowly dwindling down, and the road only becoming longer and longer as I moved along, it made the last bit of this journey even more painful than I ever imagined. But the pain was all worth it as the barn started to slowly come into view.

At first, it was a tiny speck in my vision, but it grew bigger and bigger as I took each step closer and closer to the barn. In a sea of flat dirt, the barn was a standout and unique figure that added so much mystery to the scene in front of me. I soon started to steer myself off of the road and towards the beaten-down barn, that was more broken than I thought it would be. The red paint was struggling to keep its strong color as the badly nailed boards started to fall apart with the wind whooshing and threatening to blow it all down. I was careful with my movements as I slowly pushed open the barn door and looked inside. The barn had no evidence or signs of life in it whatsoever. It looked as if nobody had been in the barn for years, which made sense in a place like this. Dead hay covered the ground and had crowded into various piles around the barn. I looked up to see the upper ledge of the barn but soon realized I had no way to reach it since a ladder was absolutely nowhere in sight. The annoyance of it lingered within me for a minute. How am I supposed to find it if I can’t reach a crucial part of the barn? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I decided to search through the hay to see if maybe she hid it in a desperate attempt to preserve what she could and come back when she got the chance.

For an hour I searched through the hay but found nothing related to what I was looking for. It frustrated me because I knew it was here. It had to be here. I paced back and forth as I thought of what to do next. I had to check the ledge. That was the only option left. I looked up at the ledge to estimate its height. I knelt down and jumped as high as I could, in which the tips of my fingers scraped the edges of the ledge. I knew I was close. I gave myself a little bit of space to run up and grab the ledge, which barely worked as the wooden boards creaked and crackled from my touch. I pulled myself up and took a slow look around.

The small trunk looked like it had sat there for years. I crawled forward and pulled it towards me as the dust kicked up from my movements. I sat on my knees, undid the latch, and opened the trunk. The first thing I noticed was a whole bouquet of dead roses, the petals all wilted and leaning into one another. Under the bouquet was a beige wedding dress, my mother’s. Age had not tarnished the dress in the slightest. I admired the color that had held up well after many long years. Then, I found a tiny box that held a golden wedding ring. It was pure gold and still shining as I twirled it between my fingers. I felt immense pride and love as I happily stared at the ring on my hand. I had waited years to do this and find my parents’ wedding box. I was relieved and ready to close the trunk until I realized I forgot to look at something. Under the wedding dress, there was another small box. I opened the square-shaped box and found many different mini Polaroid pictures. I started to look through them which only made me more confused the longer I looked. My mother was in all of the pictures, wearing her beautiful beige wedding dress. In some of the pictures she was alone, but in others she was with a man, one that I didn’t recognize. The man was in a suit…and he was with my mother…and she was holding a different bouquet…

Oh no. Oh no no no. She couldn’t have done this. She wouldn’t have.

How could she do this?
How could she hide this?
How long did she hide this for?
What will my father think when I tell him?

No! I can’t tell him.
I need to do something.
I need to get rid of this.
I need this to go away.

I quickly jumped down from the ledge as rage filled my chest. I pulled out the last match I had and lit it. I walked through the open barn door and held the lit match to the old wood. After the fire began to rise, I felt myself start to feel at peace. I watched the fire burn, and I didn’t do a thing about it.