“Cate,” she said quietly.
“Mm-hm?” Caitlin answered, still studying a canvas.
Izzy unfolded the sheet carefully.
“I think you need to see this.”
That got her.
Caitlin crossed the room quickly.
“What is it?”
Izzy handed it over.
Caitlin’s eyes moved across the page.
The room stilled.
Then—
“Oh…”
She read it again. Slower.
Dear Sam, I don’t know how to say this the right way, so I’m just going to say it. When you came for me today—when you didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think twice— I have never felt anything like that. You don’t say much. I know that. But I saw it anyway. The way you looked at me. Like I mattered. Like I wasn’t passing through. And for the first time since I got here… I didn’t feel temporary. I felt like I might belong somewhere. I don’t know what we’re doing, or what this is supposed to be. But I know I don’t want to leave it behind. —C
Caitlin lowered the letter slowly, her expression softer now. Grounded in something real.
“That’s…” She exhaled.“That girl was in love with him.”
Izzy shook her head. “No.”
A quiet settled between them.
Caitlin looked around again—but everything had shifted now.
The paintings weren’t just beautiful. They belonged to someone.
Someone who had lived here. Clothes folded in a corner. A cup left on the table. Dishes stacked like they’d be used again.
A life paused.
“And she… left all of this?” Caitlin said, lower now.
Izzy didn’t answer right away. Standing there, it didn’t feel like someone who had packed up and moved on. It felt like someone who had stepped out—and never made it back.
“I don’t buy that,” Caitlin said.
Izzy nodded. “Me neither.”
Caitlin turned slowly, taking it in again—this time not as a curator, but as someone trying to make sense of it.
“You don’t leave this behind,” she said. “Not if you have a choice.”
Her eyes came back to Izzy.
“So what happened to her?”
