His voice breaks.
“She said, ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for Jaqueline. Keep being a great dad. And a great husband. Take care of my sister, our daughter… and my niece.’”
Sara loses it.
The dam she’s been holding back since the moment he said Claire finally cracks. The sob that tears from her chest is raw and guttural. She buries her face into his shoulder, and Jaxon wraps his arms around her without a word.
Because what do you say when a ghost gives you permission to move forward?
When love, in its purest form, says I trust you to love her for both of us?
They sit there in silence, soaked in memory and mourning and the wild, tangled beauty of what it means to go on living.
Epilogue
DearClaire,
I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to write back.
Truth is, I’ve tried.
God knows how many times I’ve picked up a pen, opened a blank doc, sat on the dock with a notebook in my lap and my heart in my throat—only to stare at the page, paralyzed by everything I never got to say. Every word felt too small. Every sentence fell short. How do you speak to a ghost you never stopped loving? How do you thank someone for breaking your heart in all the right ways?
But here I am. Finally.
Because I know you wouldn’t answer if I called. And I know you’ll never read this. But on the off chance—on the slim, impossible chance that some miracle carries these words to wherever you are…
I want to say thank you.
Thank you for giving me the best two weeks of my life.
Thank you for trusting me with our daughter. For believing I could be the man she needed—even when I didn’t believe it myself.
Thank you for the memories we made in those short, fleeting days. Memories that echo louder than most people’s entire lifetimes. Memories that taught me more than any lesson or prayer ever could.
Those two weeks? They cracked me open. They unraveled every part of the man I was and rebuilt me into the man I was meant to be. Because in that time—those fourteen chaotic, beautiful, soul-wrecking days—they brought me the love of my life and two beautiful daughters.
Two.
And I love them until it hurts. Just like you taught me.
It’s been twelve years since you stepped foot onto the island. Since that storm rolled in and changed everything. A lot’s happened since then. A lot’s changed.
But not the way I still think of you when the wind shifts just right. Or when I see Jaqueline smile with that same mischievous spark in her eyes. Or when Sara stands in the kitchen humming that song you always used to play. I swear, sometimes I can still smell your perfume on the breeze.
We saved a seat for you at our wedding. I don’t know if you were there in spirit, but the chair was empty… and everyone noticed.
You were missed.
You always will be.
Jaqueline’s doing great. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s grown—how smart and brave and wildly stubborn she is. She’s got your laugh, Claire. That same raspy burst of joy that catches people off guard and makes them fall in love without even knowing it.
Right now, as I write this, she’s rolling in the grass out front—laughing like the world hasn’t touched her yet—playing with her little sister.
Grace.
We named her after you. That was Jaqueline’s idea. She said it was the only name that made sense.
