His eyes are glass now. “Sara… she has my heartbeat. She has my eyes. Don’t lie to make it easier.”
“Easier?” she nearly shouts. “You think any of this is easy? This is hell, Jaxon.”
“Then fight for it!”
“I am fighting! But I have to fight for what’s best for her.”
“And what? That’s not here? With both her parents? Under one roof, being loved every second of every day?”
“Her mother is dead. Her life is back home. Her school, her friends, her family—”
“You’re her family now. You’re her mother, Sara.”
She breaks.
Her voice barely escapes. “Jaxon…”
“You’re running. You’re scared. You think this is going to hurt too much if it doesn’t work. So you’d rather never find out. You’re afraid of the love in this. Of the fire in it. Of the damn beauty in the chaos. You’re terrified of being happy.”
And it slices her open.
Because he’s right.
She leans in. Hands shaking. Lips trembling.
“Goodbye, Jaxon,” she whispers, pressing a soft, broken kiss to his cheek.
He closes his eyes like the contact kills him. When she pulls away, he doesn’t move.
She climbs into the car, hand covering her mouth to muffle the sob. As she shuts the door, his voice breaks through the crack.
“Please don’t do this.”
She can’t answer. Can’t look back. So she stares straight ahead, fists clenched in her lap, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw its way out.
The tires roll. The dust kicks up. And Jaxon disappears in the rearview mirror.
Tears fall freely now. No shame. No stopping them.
He stands in the cloud of her leaving. In the echo of what could’ve been.
Same feeling. Different day. Different goodbye.
And with his chest wide open and bleeding, Jaxon whispers to the empty road: “I’ll be here. Where the tide meets the sand.”
The tires hum against the highway as they make their way west—back toward Duluth, back toward everything familiar… and away from everything that feels like home.
They're nearing Columbia, three hours from the island, when Jaqueline’s soft voice breaks the silence.
“Mommy… when are we going back to see my daddy?”
Sara’s breath hitches, and her throat tightens. Mommy. The word hits her like a gut punch wrapped in silk. She grips the wheel a little tighter and swallows hard, blinking back the blur in her eyes. She glances up into the rearview mirror and sees Jaq staring back at her—hopeful, wide-eyed, innocent.
And suddenly, Sara can’t breathe.
“When do you want to go back, baby?” she asks gently, trying to keep her voice from cracking.
“I don’t want him to leave like mommy.”
