Leo had been my best friend when we were five, and I never forgot his promise to come back for me. When a familiar man finally walked into my bakery 20 years later, I believed fate had kept that promise — until he stopped our wedding before the vows.
When I was five years old, Leo was my entire world.
We lived three houses apart on a quiet street.
Our mothers used to joke that they barely had to raise us because we were always raising each other.
Leo taught me how to ride a bicycle.
I taught him how to whistle through his fingers.
We built forts from old blankets, buried notes in glass jars, and once tried to run away together because our parents would not let us have cake before dinner.
We made it to the end of the block.
Then his family moved.
There had been no warning.
One morning, a truck stood in front of his house while adults carried out boxes.
I ran across the street barefoot, crying so hard I could barely speak.
Leo found me beside the mailbox.
“My dad got a job somewhere else,” he said.
“When are you coming back?”
He looked toward the truck.
“I don’t know.”
His father called his name.
Leo hugged me tightly.
Then he whispered, “One day I’ll come back. I’ll find you, and I’ll marry you.”
I laughed through my tears because we were five years old.
But I never forgot.
For years, I waited for letters.
None came.
