The BMW disappeared down the driveway at four o'clock.
I sat on the porch steps and watched it go. The wood was smooth and solid under my hands, freshly repaired. Owen had fixed these steps yesterday, crouched here with his toolbox while I brought him coffee.
The sun sank toward the mountains, turning everything gold and purple. The same colors it had been a hundred other nights, in a hundred other seasons, while this house stood witness to all the ways lives could fall apart and come back together.
Eleven years. Gone in just one conversation.
I thought about Gran, who had rebuilt her life after Grandpa died. Who had taken her grief and her debt and her determination and turned them into something that would outlast her.
I thought about Mom, who had never recovered. Who had let Dad's leaving hollow her out until there was nothing left.
I thought about Owen, sitting on this same porch yesterday, telling me Sarah had left because he was too safe.
Too safe. Too reliable. And it makes it all too easy to leave.
Two people who had given everything. Two people who had been left anyway.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.
Marcus
Did I leave my phone charger? The white one?
I stared at the screen for a long moment. Eleven years together, and this was what he wanted to know. Not if I was okay. Not if I needed anything. Just whether he'd left his charger behind.
I put the phone back in my pocket without answering.
The sun slipped below the mountains. The sky deepened from purple to the first dark blue of evening. I sat on the porch as the stars came out, one by one, and finally let myself cry.
Not for Marcus. Not for the relationship we'd lost.
For the version of myself who'd spent eleven years making herself smaller, quieter, more convenient. For the girl who'd thought love meant disappearing.
For all the time I couldn't get back.
CHAPTER 5
Owen
The wedding was beautiful.
Wildflowers cascaded from an arch at the end of the aisle. The mountains rose behind it, still holding the last of the spring snow on their peaks. The afternoon sun turned everything golden, the kind of light that made even ordinary things look like they belonged.
Riley walked toward us in a simple white dress. I'd only ever seen her in turnout gear or station blues, all sharp edges and sharper focus. But here, in the afternoon light, I understood what Liam saw. Not softer, exactly. Just the full picture of her, the parts she didn't show at work.
Mia rode ahead on Honey, the mare's coat brushed to a gleam, dropping flower petals from a basket with the kind of solemn concentration only a child could manage. The crew filled the first rows in dress uniforms, brass buttons catching the light. Cal sat with Lucy and Gabrielle, the baby asleep against her mother's shoulder.
And Liam. Liam was crying before Riley made it halfway down the aisle.
I stood beside him, holding the rings, watching my best friend fall apart in the best possible way. His hands shook when he reached for Riley's. His voice cracked on the vows.
I was happy for them. Genuinely happy. Liam had been through hell. Losing his parents at nineteen via a phone call that split his life in half. His grandmother died two years ago. Claire walked away, telling him the life he was offering wasn't enough. And then almost losing Riley in that clearing, watching her bleed in the dirt while he fought to save her.
He deserved this. They both did.
But happiness and grief can live in the same chest. I was learning that.
I studied their faces as they exchanged rings, watched them promise each other forever, and I couldn't tell if what I felt was envy or something that sank deeper and stayed. Two friends who were finally getting their real wedding—not the courthouse ceremony that started as an arrangement, but this. The one that counted.
