I cried myself to sleep that night. The phone rang once at midnight. It was probably my mother, but I didn’t feel like speaking to anyone, even her.

I sank into a dreamless sleep and did not wake again until almost noon the next day.

It was Saturday today, my last full day in Paris. Tomorrow I would be boarding a plane and flying back to New York.

As I lay in bed, pushing away all thoughts of Sebastian, I tried to think about what I should do today, where I wanted to go. Everywhere I’d been before was haunted by the thought of him.The whole city seemed stamped with his presence.

Still, I decided to make the best of it. I drew a bath and had my first bubble bath in years. I took time washing and drying my hair. I wore my favorite sweater, the one my father had given me on my 18th birthday. That was the same year he passed away from cancer.

He was on my mind a lot today for some reason. As I applied some lip gloss, I thought of his favorite quote: “Life is what you make of it.” He was always saying that.