Chapter 14
Cole
The shop’s been my whole world for the past week.
If I keep busy, I don’t have to think. That’s the lie I tell myself anyway.
I’ve sanded, sawed, and stained everything that wasn’t nailed down, just to drown out the silence. The sound of the tools helps until it doesn’t—until I look up and realize I’ve been carving patterns into nothing, thinking about her again.
The cabin is too damn quiet without Frankie.
I barely go inside anymore. When I do, it’s like walking into a memory I can’t get out of. The decorations she put up are still there—the garland draped across the mantle, the tree lights that twinkle against the window. I should take them down, but I can’t.
Everywhere I look, she’s there.
In the mug she used for her coffee.
In the faint smell of the sugar cookies she made that we didn’t get to enjoy that still lingers in the kitchen.
In the way her pillow still smells like her shampoo—sweet with a hint of spice.
I stand in the doorway now, staring at the living room. I don’t know what makes me finally step inside, but I do. Maybe I’m just tired of avoiding the ghosts she left behind.
That’s when I see it.
A small box sitting under the tree. I could’ve sworn there was nothing left there before. Probably slipped under one of the branches when we were decorating.
It’s wrapped in red paper, tied with twine, neat but simple—like her.
The tag catches my eye.
To: My Husband
From: Your Wife
My chest tightens.
I kneel and pick it up, the paper crinkling softly. My hands shake as I tear it open. Inside is a red scarf, the same shade as the one she always wore.
I lift it out, wrap it around my neck, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
It smells like her.
That same mix of vanilla and cinnamon, soft and warm and completely her.
I sink onto the couch, scarf clutched in my hands, and let the ache roll through me. I didn’t know missing someone could feel like this—like there’s too much air in the room and not enough in my lungs.
Tomorrow’s December 31st. The end of the year. The end of the deal.
I’m supposed to meet with Wentworth, the lawyer, to finalize the paperwork. Ryan will be there, smug as ever, probably ready to gloat when he sees Frankie’s gone.
The thought makes me grab my phone before I can talk myself out of it.
Cole: Will you be at the office tomorrow?
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering. Three dots quickly appear. My pulse kicks. Then they disappear. My heart sinks. I start to type something else—Forget I asked—but before I can hit send, my phone buzzes.
Frankie: I’ll be there.
I stare at the words until the screen times out. Then I read them again. For the first time in a week, hope stirs in my chest, small but alive.
Tomorrow, I’ll see her again.
And this time, I’m not letting her walk away without knowing how I feel.