Mrs. Gallagher said I knew where Enrique is. And there is only one place I can think of that he would go.

But I do not want to go there.

I surprise even myself when, less than five minutes later, I'm sliding into a parking spot too small for my car and shimmying out of the door, throwing my ratty backpack over my shoulders and slinging Mrs. Gallagher's small bag of rations onto my elbow.

The waterfall roars in my ears and the sky is brushed with a deep orange.

"Isn't it beautiful?" A young boy shouts nearby, eyes bright with excitement as he bounces on his toes.

"Yeah, it really is." I answer him, scanning the area for a face and form I've grown to know. But he's not here. A man in a black hoodie, a woman in a pantsuit, two people who look as though they capsized while attempting rafting, and the family whose son had just engaged me. But no Enrique.

I don't want to believe he's gone up the mountain. I don't want to face that. Not now.

"I can do this," I say, giving myself a pep talk.

"Do what?" the young boy asks again.

"I just don't want to walk up there is all. I'm trying to convince myself to walk through the forest." I have no idea why I'm still chatting with him.

"My daddy always says sometimes when you have to do things that are scary you should take three deep breaths and then do the first thing. He says even big scary things are just lots of small things and I shouldn't be afraid."

"That's... actually not bad advice."

I turn to see the little guy smugly nodding, arms crossed in front of him.

At least being schooled by a five year old gives me a good anecdote to tell if this doesn't go how I'm hoping. And hiking alone through the woods is definitely a scary thing.

Deep breath. The fresh air swirls around me, flipping my ponytail around behind me.

Second breath. I shift my backpack so the weight is even and hike the reusable bag from Mrs. Gallagher onto my shoulder.

Third breath. Time to take the first step.

And then another, following the only path that leads up the mountain Enrique pointed to that day we sat by the water. Or, at least, I hope it's the right one, because I'm armed only with my snacks and a haphazard array of clothes.

I am wildly underprepared for my first solo hike.

And it shows. By the hour and a half mark, I've screamed at no less than three small animals and accused a backpacker of being a moose.

My legs cry out in pain and I'm pretty sure a blister is bleeding when I finally find a large, flat rock to sit down on.

It's only after I'm sitting that I realize the reason there's a flat rock here is because it is actually a stylized bench.

"You alright?" a passing hiker asks, pausing before turning up the switchback.

"I'm fine," I lie before correcting myself. "No, actually. I've got blisters so bad even leaving my shoe on hurts."

Why I'm telling her this, I don't know. But I need help and whether or not she gives it isn't in my control. I'd rather look weird than sit here in pain, unable to go up or down in the encroaching darkness.

"Why don't you take a break. Drink some water. Do you have any pain medicine? It might help you finish the hike."

Do I have any pain medicine? I flip my backpack around and dig through the compartments, finding a dressing gown, a left slipper, and three colours of lip gloss but no pain medication.

But reaching in to grab a granola bar, my hand meets something distinctly resembling a first aid kit. I unzip it eagerly, hoping to find things to fix my blisters, but instead find only almost expired pain relievers. So I read the instructions as I nibble on the very very crunchy granola bar supplied to me by Mrs. Gallagher. I would have to thank my mother later for preparing me for this moment.

Not a good granola bar, but the pain medicine does manage to take the edge off the woman's work as she cleans and bandages my blisters.

She's quick and efficient and before I'm done the whole granola bar, she has my foot wrapped, taped, and ready to go. "There you are. You should be okay for the rest of the day at least. You need help getting up there?"

"No. I'm fine." I lie again, not wanting to keep her back from her hike with my excessively slow stumbling. There are some things a girl just has to do by herself.

Steeling myself for the rest of the journey, I test out my foot, finding it only slightly irritating rather than screaming out in pain.

This will have to do.

The little boy's words echoing in my brain, I take it one step at a time as the path darkens with the setting sun. I've been walking for another half an hour when I realize I still haven't seen a campsite.

I really should have asked that hiker if the campsite was nearby before I let her go off without me, but what's done is done.

There's no cell reception up here, and two hours to the bottom would put me past dark and well into moose sighting territory. So I have to keep going.

Hopefully someone else catches up to me and helps me find this campsite before I freeze to death in the darkness.

One step at a time.

One more switchback.

One more small animal scurrying across the path.

One more water break in which I force myself to eat the banana for energy.

I'm losing hope by the third switchback until the wind carries the sound of conversation down the mountain and I can sense I'm getting close.

Only problem is the path splits in three and there's absolutely no signs indicating which way might be the right one.

What is this? Test number three tonight? If the world doesn't want me to be with Enrique, it could just say so.

But the universe disagrees with me as a figure I'd know anywhere emerges from the path to my left, kicking a rock down the path.

"Enrique?"

He stops suddenly, snapping his head up and freezing. "Bianca?" he breathes.

I've come all this way and my mouth refuses to speak.

The wind swirls around me, oranges and pinks of the sky sneaking through the canopy of the forest. The campfire song from above drifting down to fill the silence between us.

"I—" he starts.

"Well—" I say at the same time, stopping when I see him talking.

"Go ahead," he says finally, still not moving from his spot on the ground.

"I came here because..." Why did I come here?

"You climbed all the way up here?" He drops his hands down to his sides.

"I don't know what possessed me. Some little kid told me to do it one thing at a time and I had to stop half way and get a random stranger to help with my blisters but I kept going and I could have given up but I didn't and—I'm babbling again."

"Why are you here?" he asks again, taking a small step back as I step forward.

"I'd hoped maybe you wanted to see me. Like I could show up at your reunion and you'd be willing to hear me out."

"No cell reception up here," he says as though it's an answer. And maybe it is.

"Oh, Enrique, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I—"

"You left," he says simply.

"You sent me my stuff!" I practically shout back, having to cover my mouth to stop myself from saying anything else.

"Mrs. Gallagher offered to take it when she went to visit her nephew. Seemed like you might want it."

I want to clap back. But I resist the urge to hurt him any further. I need to do this. For me.

"It's not what I wanted," I whisper. So much for confident Bianca. "It's never what I wanted. But I got so caught up in making this marriage work I forgot to learn what it would take to do that. Instead of focusing on what you and I needed, I kept doing what I thought a wife should do. But I've since learned there's really no such thing as a perfect wife or a perfect husband..." I trail off, not knowing where I was going with any of that.

"I don't know what came over me. It's like the more you were gone, the tighter I wanted to hold on to what little I had of you and it was so stressful and I started to get it in my head that you didn't want to spend time with me and I didn't fit in here and..."

"And?"

"I'm making excuses. I was scared. I did that thing I do where I get so wrapped up in myself I didn't stop to think how my leaving would affect you and what it would seem like. Enrique—"

"Do you want to go somewhere and talk?"

"I don't think I have it in me to walk any further, actually. The idea of moving my feet is making me want to cry."

"I'm just up there." He points indiscriminately down the path he just came down. "Can't be more than ten minutes."

A bird flitters in the bush. "Okay," I agree, wincing as soon as I put any pressure on my foot.

"Do you need help?" he asks, instinctively reaching out for my arm. A warm hope spreads through me.

I nod and allow him to pull my arm over his shoulders, not resisting the urge to sink into his side as he snakes his arm around my back to stabilize me.