“I didn’t know what it was.” His voice is hollow. “I didn’t even open it.”
“She figured as much. But she wanted to try. She made me promise that when the time came, I’d come see you. That you’d at least know.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t—” He breaks off, blinking up at the ceiling. “If I had just read the damn letter…”
“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” Sara says. “But I’m glad I came.”
Before he can respond, her phone rings. She steps into the kitchen to take it, and he sits there in the living room, gripping the arm of the chair like it’s the only thing holding him up.
She’s gone.
And he didn’t even know.
No goodbye.
No chance to say anything.
Just silence. And the echo of what-ifs.
When Sara returns, her voice is apologetic. “I have to go.”
“You’re leaving?” He looks up, dazed. “You just dropped a bomb on me, and now you’re walking out?”
“I’m sorry. I have to check on something. But I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Claire… she wanted you to have something.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
As she reaches for the door, she pauses. “And Jaxon?”
“Yeah?”
“Try wearing pants next time.”
He forces a smile. It barely sticks.
The door closes.
And he’s alone again.
For the rest of the day, Jaxon doesn’t know what to do with himself. He tries cleaning. Folding laundry. Running errands. Anything to keep from thinking. Anything to outrun the weight sitting in his chest like wet cement.
But it always catches up.
That night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it finally breaks him.
“I didn’t even know,” he whispers to the darkness.
And that?
That’s what wrecks him the most.
60
The Truth
Jaxonwakesupprayingyesterday was a dream.
The water hammers his shoulders as he leans into the shower wall, eyes shut, heartbeat steady—but heavy. He thinks back to the last time he saw her. Claire. Not broken. Not fading. Just… smiling.
