He turned to face me fully then, guilt clear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Soph.”
The sincerity of it loosened something in my chest—but it also pulled another truth to the surface, one we’d danced around for years.
“And I should say this, too,” I added softly. “Because I wasn’t blameless.”
He waited.
“When we ran into each other at UT orientation,” I said, “we talked about me moving away the summer before high school. You knew my mom and I had left Valentine that summer. You just didn’t know why.”
He nodded slowly. “You said it was sudden.”
“It was,” I said. “Everything was. And when I left, I didn’t do it well. I didn’t explain. I didn’t say goodbye the way I should’ve. You deserve to know the whole truth.”
His jaw tightened. “I went by your house before that,” he said quietly. “Before the first day of school. It was empty. For Sale sign out front. I thought maybe you’d come back.”
My chest ached. “I didn’t know you did that.”
“I waited,” he went on. “At school, too. First week. I kept thinking I’d see you again.” He shook his head once. “Then, I didn’t.”
Silence stretched between us, thick but not hostile. Just heavy with the weight of what we’d both carried.
“So,” I said gently, meeting his eyes, “you know what it feels like. To wonder. To wait. To assume someone would reach out, if they wanted to.”
A rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “Turns out, I do.”
Something settled between us then—not absolution exactly, but balance. Understanding. Two people who’d both disappeared at different moments, both thinking they were protecting themselves, neither realizing how deeply the absence would land.
“It’s strange,” he said after a moment, glancing toward the harbor where lights shimmered against the dark water. “How we keep crossing paths, anyway.”
“Like the universe doesn’t trust either of us to get it right on our own,” I said.
His smile softened. “Fate’s persistent.”
Standing there with him, I had the unsettling sense that whatever had pulled us apart all those years ago had been working just as hard to bring us back together.
I took a breath, feeling the weight of something I’d carried for a long time press forward. “There’s more,” I said quietly. “About why I left. About that summer before high school. About my brother.”
The words felt fragile in my mouth, like glass I wasn’t ready to set down yet.
Wyatt’s expression softened immediately—not curiosity, not pressure. Just concern. He shook his head once, gentle. “That sounds like a conversation for another time,” he said. “Somewhere quieter. When you don’t have to rush it.”
Relief spread through me, warm and unexpected. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”
I meant it. And I appreciated him for it—for not pushing, for signaling he cared enough to wait.
Before I could say more, a familiar voice cut in.
“There she is!”
I turned to see the older man from the cruise—the one I’d helped—walking toward us, his wife at his side. He looked a little shaken still, but smiling broadly.
“Thank you again,” he said. “You scared the hell out of us, but you saved my life.”
I smiled, embarrassed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
He laughed. “Everyone recorded that, you know. Half the boat had their phones out. And with a face like yours?” He winked. “You should be expecting modeling agencies to start calling.”
I groaned softly. “Please, don’t encourage that.”
