Curtis kept a locked drawer at home. I was never allowed to touch it.
I'd teased him once. "What are you hiding in there? Love letters from an ex?"
He'd gone quiet for a moment, then ruffled my hair.
"Something like that. Don't look. Leave me a little dignity."
He'd said it so casually, so openly, that I never thought to check again.
Six years together. He gave me the password to his bank account, let me check his phone whenever I wanted, even gave me the Fox family heirloom jade bracelet.
He gave me everything he could.
Everyone has a past. I told myself that.
So I let it go and pinned all my hopes on our future—a future that belonged to the two of us.
Once, I noticed a drawer left open and saw a Polaroid inside, its edges soft and worn from handling.
In the photo, a younger Curtis wore a white button-down, his arms wrapped around a girl who leaned against his shoulder with easy intimacy.
In the bottom-right corner, someone had written a line in small, careful script.
"May we stay together through every season—Lena"
I looked it up later, in secret. It was a line from an ancient poem.
May I remain by your side even when the world withers around us.