Happy Place

by Emily Henry

I knew the only thing more painful than being without him would be being together knowing I no longer truly had him.

That he’s gone back to being my phantom limb, an unstoppable ache where something’s missing.

But does it even matter that we belong to each other when we can’t be with each other? Our lives are immovably separate. Everything may look different than it did ten minutes ago, but nothing’s changed. He’s mine, but I can’t have him.

“With new partners and new kids. Everyone got this fresh start. But I wasn’t a part of either one. I was part of their relationship. And once that was over, I bounced back and forth like—like a memento or something. The only thing that ever felt permanent to me, like it belonged to me, was this place.”

“I met you,” she says, “and I finally belonged somewhere again.”

And even that pain is a kind of pleasure, to feel so loved, to love so deeply.

Before I knew Wyn, I could have been okay without him. Now I’ll always feel the place he isn’t. Want is a kind of thief. It’s a door in your heart, and once you know it’s there, you’ll spend your life longing for whatever’s behind it.

“There’s no wrong answer.”

To have loved someone so much that the taste of maple syrup can make you cry and laugh at the same time. And I know, if nothing else, I’ll have that. I know I’ve chosen the right universe.

when I walk up the steps and put my key into the lock, I feel a lift in my chest, a surety: He will be waiting on the other side, still covered in sawdust and smelling like pine. Before I even see him, my heart starts singing its favorite song. You, you, you.