But as I pull out of the lot, take a left, and see her form walking in the downpour, I know I’ve fucked up. I lighten my foot on the pedal, seeing her drenched already, and wanting to stop so badly. I told her I would be there. But I don’t stop. I pass, leaving her behind in my rearview mirror, closing my eyes and wanting to cry. I can’t, Liv. I’m sorry. This isn’t a relationship. In the fall, she’ll go to one school and I’ll go to another. She’ll get over it.
