Part 1The Box of Unopened Promises

Eight years of love, and every time I visited a new city, I sent a postcard to Nate Holloway.

I never wrote grand declarations of love. Instead, I wrote one simple thing I wanted to do with him.

Watching the sunset by the dunes. Having breakfast in the historic district. Seeing a real, heavy snowfall in the North.

He kept those cards in a vintage tin box in his study. By now, they filled two entire layers.

This year, Nate finally promised to finish the very last one with me. But a week before we were set to leave, he announced he was joining a celebrity travel show called The Perfect Pair—as the partner for Serena.

“She’s been preparing for this show for months,” he told me, his voice flat and practical. “They can’t just swap her out at the eleventh hour.”

I looked at him, feeling the familiar ache in my chest. “And our promise?”

Nate was silent for a beat. Then, he let out a sharp, impatient breath. “To be honest, Elena, I haven’t actually read any of those postcards.”

My heart stuttered.

“My assistant filed them away for me,” he continued. “Don’t make this sound like some grand betrayal. It’s a few pieces of cardstock.”

At the show’s press conference, the host asked Nate who his dream travel partner would be. Serena stood just below the stage, looking up at him with expectant eyes.

Nate took the microphone without a second’s hesitation. “We met far too late in life,” he said, his voice echoing through the hall. “So I want to make up for every second of lost time.”

The room erupted in applause.

I was sitting in the front row, my fingers trembling as I gripped the final postcard. I had intended to give it to him today. It read: “If we don’t go this year, I won’t wait for the next.”

After the cameras stopped rolling, Nate caught me backstage. He frowned, noticing my pale face. “Why do you look like that? Serena is just a work partner. I’ll be back as soon as the season wraps.”

But the shoot was ninety days.

Ninety days from now would be our eighth anniversary. He wanted me to wait until then to even discuss our wedding.

I thought about that tin box, filled with messages he had never bothered to open. It didn't feel like a collection of promises anymore. It felt like a mountain of evidence of a one-sided life.

It wasn't that the cards had been lost in the mail. It was that for eight years, the recipient had never actually been waiting for them.

“The production crew needs to take the tin.”

Nate’s assistant, wearing white gloves, leaned over the desk to pick up the box.

I slammed my hand down on the lid. “Who authorized this?”

“I did.” Nate stood in the doorway, his press pass still dangling from his wrist. “The show needs a ‘recurring motif’—something to thread the ninety days together. These cards are perfect.”

The metal edge of the box bit into my palm. “These cards are about us, Nate.”

“There’s nothing private in there. Just names of places.”

Serena stepped out from behind him, clutching a production schedule. “Please don’t misunderstand, Elena. The director just wants me to pull a random card at each stop. Then Nate and I will fulfill the ‘wish’ on the card. The audience will love the sentimentality.”

She already knew the "gameplay." And Nate claimed he hadn't read a single one.

I didn't move my hand. “Did you read them, Serena?”

She bit her lip, glancing at Nate. “Was I not supposed to? The assistant said it was fine. I only looked at the top few.”

“I told her she could,” Nate said, walking toward the desk. “They were sent to me. I get to decide what happens to them.”

“If I give someone a gift, can’t I take it back when it’s treated like trash?”

“Elena, don’t start a scene before we even film.”

He always used my full name when he was losing his patience.

Serena looked down at her schedule, shifting her arm. On her wrist was a crimson braided cord bracelet. I had made that for Nate years ago. It had a tiny, worn brass clasp.

I stared at her wrist. “Is that bracelet part of the ‘show’ too?”

Serena instinctively covered it. “Nate said the reception in the mountains is spotty. He gave it to me for good luck. If it bothers you, I’ll take it off right now.”

She fumbled with the clasp but didn't actually undo it.

“Leave it,” Nate said, placing his hand over hers. “It’s just a string. She’s not going to be petty about it.”

But I was petty. Or maybe I was finally just tired.

That cord had lived on his keychain for seven years because he’d said wearing it was "childish." Now, it was on her wrist.

The assistant stood awkwardly by the desk. “Mr. Holloway, the director is waiting for the ‘unboxing’ shots.”

Nate gently pried my hand off the lid and picked up the tin. The bottom scraped against the mahogany desk with a dull, heavy thud.

I stepped in front of the door. “You can do the show. You can give her the bracelet. But you are not taking the cards.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then he handed the tin back to the assistant and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the hallway.

“Elena, after the show is over, I’m taking you to Cape Point.”

That was the destination on the very last card.

I looked up at him. “You read it?”

“I read it.”

“Then you know what I wanted to do there?”

“Watch the sunrise,” he said, his voice softening.

He was right. For a split second, a foolish spark of hope flickered in my chest. Maybe the "I never read them" comment was just a defensive lie from the press conference.

He pulled two train tickets from his wallet and pressed them into my hand. “The morning train, ninety days from now. I’ve already booked it. This time, nothing changes.”

The paper was warm from his pocket. The destination: Cape Point. I checked the date twice before I finally stepped aside.

Serena followed the assistant out. As she passed me, she paused. “Don’t worry, Elena. I’m just borrowing the cards for ninety days. When we get to the Cape Point episode, I’ll make sure Nate leaves the very last one for you.”

“Cape Point is part of the show?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Nate gripped the door handle. “The director changed the finale location. It’s actually better this way—I can scout it out for us first.”

“Then what are these tickets for?”

“They’re still valid. We’ll go again after we wrap.” He reached out and took one of the tickets back from me. “Serena gets motion sickness. I’m going to use this one to reserve her a specific seat for the production travel. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

The door shut in my face.

I looked down at the remaining ticket in my hand. The passenger name wasn't mine.

It was Serena’s.