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For a long time, I just breathe.

And then I tell him everything.

“I saw you,” I whisper. “When I was unconscious. When I was in that coma, I saw you, King. You were there.”

I blink through the sting in my eyes, remembering the dream with unbearable clarity. “You had that crooked smile. The one that always got you out of trouble. And you were holding my hand like you never let go in the first place. And for a while, it felt like… like maybe none of it ever happened. Like I didn’t lose you. Like I could stay there, with you.”

I glance over my shoulder, and my dad gives me a gentle nod, eyes glossy with emotion.

“You saved me,” I whisper, turning back to the gravestone. “In the weirdest, most impossible way… you saved my life.”

I don’t know what’s real and what’s cosmic or divine or just some last-ditch effort from my brain to keep me tethered. But I know this much:

The love I felt for Kingston was real. It was young and messy and bright like a firework that burned out too soon—but it was real. And it led me here. To Fletch. To the twins. To a love that came after the storm, solid and steady and soul-deep.

“I love you,” I say softly. “And I always will. But I don’t ache the way I used to. Not like before.”

The wind stirs through the trees like it’s exhaling.

“I think part of me held on so tightly because I didn’t know if I’d ever feel whole again without you,” I admit. “But I do. Because of Fletch. Because of Kingston and Kody. Because of Reese and Thorin and the guys. I have a family now. I have more.”

A tear rolls down my cheek, but this time, it’s not sharp. It doesn’t feel like shattering. It feels like soft release.

My dad crouches beside me, placing a small white lily at the base of the stone. “She had a breakdown, you know,” he says quietly. “Your mom. When Fletch called… when we found out what happened.”

I look at him, startled.

“She didn’t know how to cope,” he continues. “She still doesn’t, most days. But she’s trying now. It’s better. We’re talking again.”

“Is she… okay?” I ask, unsure what answer I even want.

“She’s… human,” he says. “And she’s sorry. Even if she doesn’t know how to say it out loud.”

I let that settle in my chest. It doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t erase the years. But it’s a start.

I glance back at Kingston’s grave, something unspoken clicking into place.

“You were my beginning,” I whisper, fingertips grazing the letters of his name like I’m trying to memorize them by touch alone. “But you’re not my end.”

The words catch on my tongue, not because they aren’t true—but because they are. So deeply true it makes my chest ache.

“You were the first person who ever saw me,” I murmur. “The first boy who made me feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just this walking shadow with too many scars and not enough light. You gave me that—Kingston. You made me feel golden, even when everything else was crumbling.”

A tear slips down my cheek, warm against the cool wind. I don’t wipe it away.

“But I’ve lived a whole life since then,” I say, voice barely above the breeze. “A messy, chaotic, beautiful life you didn’t get to see. One where I got knocked down harder than I ever thought possible. One where I stopped believing I deserved anything good. And then… Fletch.”

My chest swells, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips.

“He ruined everything I thought I knew. About safety. About timing. About love. He showed up with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and grief in his eyes and wrecked every defense I built after you.”

I take a breath.

“And then—when I woke up… he was there. He never left. Not once. He held my hand through the dark, King. The same way you did in that dream. Like somehow you passed the torch to him in that weird cosmic handoff between memory and fate.”

I glance down at the small photo I brought. A printout from our first day home from the hospital. Me in Fletch’s hoodie, hair a mess, eyes exhausted, holding one tiny twin in each arm while he sat beside me on the floor like he never wanted to be anywhere else.

“I think you’d like him,” I whisper. “He’s a pain in the ass. He’s stubborn and broody and talks in grunts most days, but he’s good, Kingston. So good. In all the ways you were, and in all the ways that came after.”