My fingers tremble as I take off the necklace and place the warm ruby in his open palm.
“What are you…?” he asks, his eyes wide with confusion.
“I never mourned for our baby," I whisper, the words tasting like rust and salt. “I never had the chance to say… how unfair and cruel it was to lose her—in my mind, I always imagined a girl. And… how much I would have loved her.”
The tears are falling freely now, but I don't wipe them away. I close his palm over the ruby with both of my hands.
"And I realized, Dorian... neither have you. Will you do it with me? Now?"
A raw, broken sound rips from his chest. He can't speak. He just nods, his own tears streaming down his face, mirroring mine.
And so, we sit on the beach, two broken people, and we finally cry. We cry for the baby we never held, the life we never lived, and the dreams that died five years ago in the dark.
We hold the ruby together, pressed between our palms—part Dorian, part Della—and our foreheads meet while our tears land on the sand.
When all the tears have been shed, he looks at me and he understands the offering I make.
I open our hands, lift the ruby, and press it to my lips.
He leans down and kisses the stone, too.
A farewell.
Together, we walk to the water and, with a shared breath, we give it to the ocean. The stone of love—our love—vanished in the waves.
Dorian wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest, and I let him. I rest my head against him, feeling his heart race.
“I love you, Della," he whispers into my hair. "My heart and mind are colliding. I want to take you in my arms and fly straight to Chicago, but… I understand."
He lifts my chin gently.
"What can I do? What do you need?"
I tilt my head back, my gaze steady on his.
“Time. Just time.”
* * *
Dorian
Time. She wants time. Every instinct in my body screamsNo. The male, the protector, the man who just got her back from the brink of death—it all roars in my head.Chain her to your side. Don't let her go. Protect her.
My muscles tense. My hands clench. I want to argue. I want to command.
But then I really look at her. I don’t see the ghost, nor the Della from the lake house. This is a woman, standing on her own two feet, choosing the hardest possible path.
She's not runningfromme. She's walkingtowardherself.
And I realize, in one devastating, gut-wrenching moment, that this is the final test. Proving my love isn't holding on with any cost. It's letting go freely.
The fight drains out of me, replaced by an ache so profound it hollows me out. "You're right," I whisper, the words breaking me.
I just stand in front of her, memorizing her face. "How long?"
"I don't know," she whispers, tears in her eyes. "Until I'm... me again."
I nod, a single, painful jerk. I lean in, and I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in.
