‘You know, I already have your address saved, Rapunzel. You didn’t need to send it.’
‘Humour me. Maybe I just like the idea of you knowing where to find me.’
‘Dangerous thing to say to the mail guy. What if I show up with a screwdriver and a hero complex?’
‘Then you’ll fit right in.’
Five minutes later, I step onto the back porch, barefoot. The sky’s low and lazy, the sea kissing the horizon in that way that makes everything ache. Waves whisper against the shore, and I close my eyes, letting the salt and sound soak into me.
Then—buzz.
Two new messages.
One from Dane
‘??Oh, damsel, I sure hope so.’
And one from Blake
‘Hello stranger. Thought you’d run off with my heart.’
The cider I’ve just lifted to my lips catches in my throat. The burn of it collides with the burn in my chest.
Blake (again)
‘Call 0800 559 449—that’s the gas company. Also, Penn, you need to sign the papers.’
That last line slices clean through me.
Sign the papers.Like it’s that simple. Like ten years of our lives can be folded, filed, and forgotten with a single stroke of a pen.
‘After ten years, how could you be so cold?’
I drop the phone. My hands are shaking again as I walk down the garden path, the long grass brushing my calves.
I don’t stop until I reach her little gate the tiny seaside cemetery where my daughter lies. I fall to my knees and sob. For what’s lost. For what still lingers. For what refuses to stay buried.
I don’t know how long I cry there, maybe minutes, maybe hours.
By the time I return, the sky’s painted in burnt oranges and soft pinks. The sun kisses the sea like it’s saying goodbye.
Inside, the smell hits me first garlic, basil, red wine. And him.
Dane.
He stands at my stove like he belongs here, my nana’s apron tied around him, too small and impossibly endearing. He’s humming something under his breath, stirring one pot while tending to another.
Two glasses of red breathe on the table. A salad. Warm bread wrapped in a tea towel.
I move forward and wrap my arms around him from behind, burying my face in his back. Tears spill freely, soaking into the cotton of his shirt.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” I whisper.
His hand finds mine warm, steady,real.“Take a seat, Rapunzel. I’ll dish it up.”
So, I do. I sit cross-legged in the chair, arms wrapped around my knees, watching this beautiful man move through my space like he’s always been part of it.
When I taste the food, it’s like being held. Each bite was a warm hug I didn’t know I needed.
