Change Of Season Dates ⭐

She poured the tea and sat by the frosted glass. A text from her sister: You okay? First snow. Feels early this year. Marta typed back: Seasons change on their own schedule. Sent it. Then added: I’m okay. The second part felt less true.

Marta stood up, walked to the shelf, and took down the notebook. She opened it to the last page they’d written on together—March 20th, the spring equinox. Sam’s handwriting: What I’m leaving behind: my fear of quiet mornings. What I hope will grow: patience. Hers: What I’m leaving behind: the need to be right. What I hope will grow: trust. change of season dates

She finished her tea. The snow was sticking now, turning the street into a postcard. She thought about Sam’s hands, the way he’d scrape ice off her windshield without being asked. She thought about how he’d said I love you the first time on a rainy April afternoon, the exact date lost to her now, which felt like a betrayal. She poured the tea and sat by the frosted glass

What I hope will grow: the courage to stop looking for the day it ended, and start looking for the day I begin again. Feels early this year

She closed the notebook and put it back on the shelf, but this time she turned the spine outward. The calendar with the black X’s came down. She folded it once, twice, and dropped it into the recycling.

The calendar on Marta’s wall had three black X’s through October 14th. That was the day Sam left. She hadn’t moved the marker since.