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The water at midnight—black, endless, full of promise.

Her.

Always her.

The heat. The hunger. The way everything burned brighter because it couldn’t last.

When I open my eyes, tears are running down my face.

I don’t bother wiping them away.

“Daddy?” Hayden says, hopping down now, worry replacing playfulness.

I crouch in front of her, swiping at my cheeks, embarrassed and undone all at once.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Just… memories.”

She considers that, serious in a way only kids can be. Then she presses her half-eaten cone into my hand.

“Here,” she says. “Ice cream makes everything better, right?”

I laugh. A real one. It cracks something open and seals something else shut.

“Yeah,” I say. “It does.”

Later that night, after she’s asleep—sunburned, exhausted, happy—I sit on the balcony with my phone.

I don’t know why I do it. Curiosity, maybe. Nostalgia. A need to know where everyone landed.

Beth first.

New Jersey. Married. Golden retrievers. Smiling kids. A life that looks warm and earned.

My thumb hovers overAdd Friend.

I don’t press it.

Some doors are better left closed.

I scroll through a few more names. Faces I recognize but don’t really know anymore. Lives that moved on without me.

Then—

Her.

Everything is private.

Of course it is.

Her profile says one thing:Chicago.

She was always a city girl.

I hesitate, then Google.

Her name. Chicago. Sales rep.

It doesn’t take long.