A Million Different Pieces

I’ll admit it now—what I wouldn’t admit then.

I was wrong.

I didn’t come back to win her over. I didn’t even think I’d talk to her.

But I saw her face on a poster taped to a light pole outside the diner.

“Live Tonight – Ember Calloway.”

Her golden hair. That same smile I remembered. I stood there in the heat, staring at it like a fool.

So I bought a ticket. Just to be in the same room.

When she stepped on stage, it was like the lights bent around her. Her voice carried through the room like something holy—smooth, aching, proud. That girl I once held under a blanket of stars had turned into a woman who didn’t need anyone to hold her.

I stayed in the back while the crowd roared. She hadn’t looked at me once.

But I knew she saw me.

She just didn’t acknowledge me.

The show ended, and folks started filtering out with posters, T-shirts, hats—some laughing, some crying. I waited. Just stood there, pressed against the wall, until most everyone had gone.

Once the room settled and one of the bouncers near the stage turned to talk to a roadie, I moved—quiet, careful—and slipped forward, stopping just at the rail.

Up on stage, Ember was taking down her gear, mic stand in hand, talking to one of her backup singers. Her back was to me. But her hands slowed when I got close.

She didn’t look up.

“Ember?” I said, my voice dry.

She closed her eyes and let out a taut breath. Slowly, she turned—just enough to face me, her expression unreadable.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she murmured, eyes heavy on mine for the first time in years.

“I wanted to see you,” I said, swallowing hard. My hands gripped the bars of the gate. The metal was cold against my skin.

“I don’t,” she said. Her eyes were hard as stone. “I don’t want to see you. Not here… not ever again.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to see you,” she repeated, firmer. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ten years from now.”

“But—” My heart stopped cold. How could eyes that used to hold so much love now look at me like that?

“You broke my heart,” Ember said, standing tall with the mic stand still in her grip.

“I know I did,” I said quickly. “And I ain’t here to make excuses. I just… I saw the posters all over town, with your name and your face. And I had to come. Even if it was just this once.”

“Ember?” one of the backup singers called out from behind the curtain. “You ready?”

“Just one moment, darlin’,” she called back, then looked at me again. “You wasted your hard-earned money coming here, Charlie. I don’t want to see you. And you’ll get no mushy, loving words from me. Not ever again.”

Memories from a lifetime ago flashed through my brain like a meteor shower. Of high school, of driving down the road in my Mustang, Ember in the passenger seat, with the top down. Her hair flying in the wind.

I remembered sneaking out with her to the abandoned farmhouse to sit on the roof and watch the stars. When she pressed her soft lips to mine, and we promised each other forever and ever.

And I also remembered the day I ruined everything—when I left with my band after graduation and told her to move on. I was chasing something bigger.

And she had moved on.

I’d tried to live that life. Really tried. But the road chewed us up, spit us out, and left me broke, bitter, and sleeping in motels that stank of smoke and regret. I traded her for a dream that died somewhere between two gas stations in Tennessee.

Now I was back. And I felt like I’d stop at nothing to get it all back. The life I had before was a dream I’d thrown away for a nightmare.

“I don’t expect to,” I said. “I just wanted to see you. To say—” I gave a sad smile and waved a hand toward the stage. “I always knew you and your singing were something special. I’m glad the world’s finally seeing it too.”

Ember pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

I could feel her pulling away, and I wanted her back. Just for a heartbeat.

“Remember when we used to come here?” I tried. “Back when it was just a shady little bar? Before they turned it into this big event space?”

“I remember everything, Charlie.” Her eyes flashed. “I’ve let go of the past. I don’t want it back.”

My breath caught. “Is there… someone now?”

“There sure is,” Ember said, raising her chin. “Me, myself, and I. And the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. That’s all I need.”

I gave a half-hearted nod. “That’s good.”

She sighed, brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “I should go.”

Don’t go.

Every fiber of my being screamed it. I wanted to jump the gate and hold her. To beg her to stay. To tell her how wrong I’d been… how much I missed her… how my band had split and my life had fallen to pieces.

Instead, I pried my fingers from the rail and stepped back.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it doesn’t mean anything anymore. But I am. Truly. I never meant to hurt you.”

Her eyes stayed guarded.

“I know you didn’t,” she murmured. “And I forgave you a long time ago. You were a boy chasing glory. I just thought our love was forever—not just a season. I was wrong.”

Tears burned in my eyes. “I still—”

She held up her hand. “No, you don’t. You don’t even know me anymore… and I never really knew you. I just thought I did, Charlie.”

She gathered her things and turned to leave, her blue dress trailing behind her like a queen’s.

Then she paused at the edge of the curtain. Without turning, she said:

“Don’t come lookin’ for somethin’ you already left behind.”

And just like that, she was gone again.

This time for good.

I wanted to run after her. Beg her to forgive me. Do anything to hold on.

But I loved her too much for that.

Her life was better now—without me in it.

I staggered through the empty room, slipped out the door into the humid night, and leaned against the wall. Then I put my head in my hands…

…and broke into a million different pieces.