Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~8 min read
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
336 hours.
Not enough time.
Never enough time.
They don’t talk about it constantly.
The leaving.
But it’s there.
Underlying every conversation.
Every touch.
Every moment.
The awareness that it’s ending.
Soon.
Day one of two weeks.
They act normal.
Cook breakfast together. Chop wood. Take a walk.
Like any other day.
Except it’s not.
There’s a desperation to it.
Memorizing.
The way Beck’s hands move when he cooks.
The sound of his laugh.
The warmth of him beside her.
All the small things she’ll miss.
Everything.
Day three.
Iris starts packing.
Not aggressively. Just organizing.
Deciding what to take. What to leave.
Beck helps.
Even though it’s killing him.
She can see it in his face.
The pain he’s trying to hide.
“You don’t have to help,” she says.
“I want to. I want to spend every minute I can with you.”
“Even if those minutes hurt?”
“Especially then.”
They pack in silence.
Books into boxes. Clothes into suitcases.
Dismantling the life she built.
Three months.
That’s all it was.
Three months of happiness.
And now she’s erasing it.
Day five.
They drive to town together.
One last visit to the bar. The coffee shop. The general store.
Saying goodbye to people.
Sarah hugs her tight.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely. But it’s yours to make. Just… don’t lose yourself chasing success. I did that. It’s not worth it.”
“I’ll remember.”
Danny gives her a beer on the house.
“Beck’s been happier these past months than I’ve seen him in years. Thanks for that.”
“I wish I could stay.”
“So stay.”
If only it were that simple.
Day seven.
One week left.
Beck is quieter.
Withdrawn.
Protecting himself.
Iris understands.
She’s doing the same.
Building walls before the goodbye.
So it hurts less.
It doesn’t work.
It still hurts.
They’re sitting by the fire when Beck asks:
“Do you think we could have made it? Long-term?”
Iris considers.
“I don’t know. We never got the chance to find out.”
“If things were different. If you could work remotely. Or if I could handle cities. Do you think it would have worked?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Me too.”
“But things aren’t different.”
“No. They’re not.”
They fall silent.
What-ifs and might-have-beens.
The saddest words in the language.
Day nine.
They make love.
Slow. Desperate. Memorizing.
Trying to imprint the feeling.
The connection.
So when they’re apart, they can remember.
After, wrapped together, Beck says:
“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Not even Anna. It’s different. Deeper. More real.”
“Beck—”
“I need you to know that. When you’re in Seattle. Building your career. Living your life. I need you to know you were loved. Completely. Even if it wasn’t enough.”
Iris is crying.
“It was enough. This was enough. I’m just… too scared to choose it.”
“I know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re choosing yourself. That’s brave.”
It doesn’t feel brave.
It feels cowardly.
Running from the hard choice.
Choosing safety over risk.
Performance over authenticity.
But she’s committed now.
Contracts signed. Apartment leased. Start date set.
No turning back.
Day eleven.
Three days left.
The cabin is mostly packed.
Boxes stacked. Furniture covered.
Looking abandoned already.
“What will you do with it?” Beck asks.
“Rent it out, maybe. I can’t sell. Not yet.”
“Because of Margaret?”
“Because of us. This place is where we happened. I can’t let it go completely.”
“So you’ll keep it. Even if you’re not here.”
“Yes. Maybe I’ll visit sometimes.”
“I’d like that.”
They both know she won’t.
Long-distance doesn’t work.
Especially when the distance is lifestyle. Philosophy. Entire worlds.
This is ending.
Fully. Finally.
In three days.
Day twelve.
Beck takes her to his favorite places.
The avalanche site. The ridge where he proposed to Anna. The meadow where he scattered her ashes.
Sharing his sacred spaces.
“Why are you showing me this?” Iris asks.
“Because you’re part of my story now. Part of this place. I want you to carry it with you.”
“I will. Always.”
“And I’ll carry you. What we had. It won’t disappear just because you leave.”
“Won’t it?”
“No. Love doesn’t work like that. It stays. Even when people go.”
He learned that with Anna.
Now he’s learning it again with Iris.
The lesson he never wanted to repeat.
That night, her last but one, they don’t sleep.
Just talk.
About everything.
Childhood. Dreams. Fears. Regrets.
Things they never got to say.
Running out of time.
“If I asked you one more time to stay,” Beck says. “Would you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”
“Then I won’t ask. Because you need to do this. For yourself. Without my influence.”
“What if I regret it?”
“Then you’ll learn something. Regret teaches.”
“I don’t want to learn from regret. I want to make the right choice the first time.”
“There is no right choice. Just different paths. Different consequences. You pick one and live with it.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“That’s life.”
He kisses her.
Gentle. Final.
A goodbye that’s not quite goodbye yet.
But close.
Day fourteen.
Leaving day.
Iris wakes wrapped in Beck’s arms.
Last time.
She doesn’t want to move.
Doesn’t want this moment to end.
But it has to.
Life doesn’t pause.
Even when you want it to.
They load her car in silence.
Boxes. Suitcases. All her belongings.
The Prius is packed tight.
“You’re sure about the drive?” Beck asks. “Weather’s supposed to be fine but—”
“I’ll be okay. I’ve done it before.”
“Not leaving. That’s different.”
He’s right.
Driving to Montana was an adventure.
Driving away is heartbreak.
They stand by her car.
Sun shining. Snow sparkling.
Beautiful day for a goodbye.
Cruel, really.
Should be raining.
Storm clouds. Dramatic weather.
Instead, it’s perfect.
Like Montana is showing her what she’s leaving.
One last time.
“I don’t know what to say,” Iris admits.
“Say you’ll be happy. That’s all I want.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll manage. I’ve done it before.”
Alone.
He’ll be alone again.
Because of her.
The guilt is crushing.
“I love you,” she says. “That doesn’t change. Even when I’m gone.”
“I love you too. More than I thought possible. Thank you for that.”
“For what?”
“For teaching me I could love again. Feel again. Even if it hurts.”
“I’m sorry it has to hurt.”
“I’m not. Pain means it was real. Worth it.”
He kisses her.
One last time.
Long. Deep. Heartbreaking.
A goodbye kiss.
When they break apart, both are crying.
“Go,” Beck says. “Before I beg you to stay.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes. Because it would work. And then you’d resent me.”
He’s right.
He’s always right.
Iris gets in the car.
Starts the engine.
Beck steps back.
Hands in pockets. Face stoic.
But eyes wet.
She drives away.
Watching him in the rearview mirror.
Getting smaller.
Smaller.
Gone.
And Iris Chen leaves Montana.
Leaves Beck Garrett.
Leaves the best three months of her life.
For what?
Career. Success. The life she worked for.
The life she’s not sure she wants anymore.
But it’s too late.
She’s committed.
She’s leaving.
And there’s no going back.
The drive to Seattle is endless.
Iris cries for the first two hours.
Then goes numb.
Then cries again.
This is wrong.
Everything about this is wrong.
But she keeps driving.
Because turning around means admitting she made a mistake.
Means disappointing her agent. The brand. Everyone counting on her.
Means choosing love over logic.
Heart over head.
And Iris has never been good at that.
She texts Beck when she crosses into Washington.
Made it safely. Miss you already.
His response comes quickly:
Miss you too. Be happy. You deserve it.
She’s not happy.
She’s miserable.
But she doesn’t say that.
Just responds: Thank you. For everything.
Always.
One word.
So much meaning.
She cries again.
Seattle appears on the horizon.
Familiar skyline. City lights. Traffic.
Home.
It should feel like home.
It doesn’t.
It feels foreign.
Wrong.
Like she’s visiting someone else’s life.
Not returning to her own.
She drives to her new apartment.
Expensive. Downtown. Everything she wanted.
Climbs five flights of stairs because the elevator’s broken.
Unlocks the door.
Empty space. Hardwood floors. Windows overlooking the city.
Perfect.
And completely wrong.
She stands in the middle of the empty apartment.
Surrounded by boxes.
And realizes with devastating clarity:
She made the wrong choice.
The absolutely wrong choice.
But it’s too late to go back.
Isn’t it?
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