I had just remembered something.
I glanced back at Adrian. “You know… I just thought about something. Aren’t you worried about your wallet?”
“My wallet?” he asked, staring with a perplexed look.
“Yes, your wallet… as in the one you said went missing.”
“Oh… that wallet.” He scratched the back of his head, the tell-tale sign of a lie warming up. “Yeah… when I leave here I’ma just ride back through the store and asked if anyone saw it.”
“Mm-hmm,” I nodded, unconvinced. “Adrian.”
He stiffened.
“Be honest with me. Did youreallylose your wallet?”
Adrian stared at me for a second, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “Nah,” he finally admitted, “I ain’t lose it.”
I crossed my arms. “So where is it?”
He shrugged, embarrassed now. “In the car,” he replied, then rushed to explain, “I only said that because I wasn’t expecting to spend like that… or really spend at all besides gas. You invited me, well, Iaskedto come last minute, so I figured you already had everything we’d need—food, cabin stuff, all that. And I wastrying to be careful. I still got a few things to get for my kids for Christmas, so I wasn’t trying to dip into that.”
My expression softened a notch.
Then, quieter, almost sheepish, “I did bring a lil’ extra cash with me, though… but that was just in case I ran out of weed and found a weed man up here.”
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. “So Christmas, gas, and emergency weed?”
“Gotta have priorities.”
I stepped closer, my voice lowering a notch. “Adrian, you could’ve just told me the truth.”
“I know that… now.”
Adrian wasn’t a bad guy. He was thoughtful, he cared, and his heart usually showed up before his mouth did. He just had a bad habit of lying when the truth would’ve served him better. Thankfully, that was something he could fix.
I exhaled softly. “Next time,when you’re with a different woman, just say you’re broke, budgeting, and responsible. Women respect honesty more than mystery.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Noted.”
***
“From Tears to Touch: The Night We Found Each Other Again”
The night was still, but something stirred me from sleep. A distant sound—soft, mournful, and aching with emotion—seeped into my dreams and tugged me gently awake.
Slowly, I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, trying to place the haunting melody that echoed faintly through the cabin walls. I got out of bed, wrapped my robe around me, and followed the sound of the music. I paused at the threshold ofthe hallway.Aaron Hall’svoice wrapped around my chest like a memory.
“I miss you. I’m talkin’ to you, baby.”
My heart clenched.
I thought for sure it was Adrian doing some late-night, emotional, impromptu performance. But when I turned the corner and stepped into the living room, it wasn’t him, it was Bryce. He was seated on the couch, shoulders slumped and head bowed. In his hands was the sonogram of our daughter. Bryce hadn’t heard me, because he was too lost. His chest shook as silent sobs tore through him, tears dropping onto the little black-and-white picture like rain. Bryce pressed it to his forehead, breaking in a way I hadn’t seen since that day at the hospital.
My breath hitched, and tears filled my eyes instantly.
I stood there for a second, watching the man I loved fall apart over the daughter we never got to raise. We held her, we named her, we kissed her perfect little fingers and memorized her face, but we never got to hear her cry… never got to watch her grow… never got to be her parents outside of that hospital room.
Slowly and carefully, I walked to him. “Bryce…” I whispered.
