Claire says nothing. She walks toward the door on legs that barely feel like hers. But as her hand reaches for the handle, she freezes.
Through the window—just a pane of glass between her and devastation—she sees him. Jaxon. Sitting at their table. Laughing.
But not alone.
A woman sits across from him—auburn hair, striking blue eyes. Her hand slides across the table, rests gently over Jaxon’s forearm.
Claire’s stomach caves in.
“Why are we just standing here?” Sara asks.
Claire doesn’t answer. Her voice cracks as she whispers, “He’s in there... withsomeone.”
She slides down the door like gravity finally caught up. Knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them.
“She’s wearing a ring, Sara,” Claire whispers.
Sara stares. “Okay. And so are you, Claire.”
Claire’s eyes snap up—burning. “Don’t.”
People are starting to stare. A group walks up behind them, awkwardly waiting to enter. Sara gently tugs her sister’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Back in the car, the silence is louder than any scream. Claire’s jeans are stained with tears she didn’t bother to wipe. She stares blankly ahead—until Sara mutters, “He’s coming out.”
Claire jerks her head up.
Jaxon steps into the lot beside the woman. They're still laughing. Still close. They pause at her SUV. She leans in and hugs him—longer than polite. Familiar. Intimate. Then she climbs in and drives away.
Jaxon stands there for a moment, smiling at nothing. He opens his door, then pauses—glancing toward the car just a few spots over. Claire freezes. He can’t see her through the tint. He can’t know.
But God, it feels like he does.
Still, he turns away. Climbs into his truck. Drives off.
Claire doesn’t cry again. Not this time. She just stares forward like she’s watching the ashes of something still smoldering.
The next morning, bags packed, Claire lingers at the door.
“I want to drive through town one more time,” she says.
Sara nods, silent. She doesn’t argue anymore.
They head toward the island, tracing the same streets they'd driven days before. Jaxon’s truck is parked outside his new office. The bold STONE sign gleams in the early light.
Sara doesn’t turn onto HWY-17. Instead, she veers toward a place they both know too well.
“No,” Claire says immediately. “We don’t need to go there.”
But they do. Sara knows it. Claire knows it.
They circle the boulder with “STONE” carved deep into its surface.
“Turn around,” Claire pleads.
“You need to let this go. Maybe seeing it will help,” Sara says as the house comes into view.
They stop. Step out.
