Chapter 35
Rosa
I ran.
Past the elevators that blurred by. Past a startled housekeeper who gaped at me in shock. Down the seemingly endless stretch of hotel hallway that felt miles long.
I clutched the note in my hand that Hazel had delivered to me when I woke up. In Noah’s handwriting, a few simple words scribbled on a Post-It, taped to the signed annulment papers.
If this is what you truly want, I won’t hold you back. But it’s only official if we file it and I’m not going to be the one to do that. That’s up to you…
It’s not what I wanted. Kristen was wrong; I didn’t want to give up on us. I wanted Noah. I wanted him as my husband. Now and always. His name hammered in my skull like a relentless drumbeat, matching the furious cadence of my footsteps.
Please still be there. Please still be there. Please don’t let me be too late.
I skidded to a stop outside our door—his door—my heart clawing at my ribs.
There was no time to knock, no room for hesitation.
With fingers shaking uncontrollably, I fumbled for the key that was still in my purse and flung the door open, holding my breath like it was the last desperate plea I could muster.
But the room was empty.
Clean. Quiet. Soulless.
The bed was made. The closet was bare. The small table by the window didn’t hold his sunglasses or keys or half-finished coffee. It was as if he’d never been there at all.
I stood frozen in the little kitchenette, my stomach dropping so fast it felt like I was in free fall.
For a second, all I could do was stare. Like if I looked long enough, he might appear in front of me out of thin air.
Like this might be some stupid cosmic test and I’d passed just by wanting him badly enough.
But nothing happened.
I stepped deeper inside the room on trembling legs, the silence pressing in like grief. My legs gave out, and I sank onto the end of the bed like my strings had been cut.
Was I too late? Had he already left to go back to New York?
I grabbed the hotel phone and stabbed at the front desk button with shaking fingers.
“Maple Grove Inn & Suites, how may I help you?”
“Hi—” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and tried again. “Hi, I’m wondering… did Noah Tripp check out this morning?”
A pause. The kind that always comes before bad news.
“Yes, Dr. Tripp.” My heart ached at the sound of that. Dr. Tripp. “It appears he checked out a few hours ago.”
No . He gave up on me.
I was too late. Again. I’d made my big decision. I’d been ready to fight, to stay, to choose him—and I was still too late.
Of course I was.
No… no, this was ridiculous. I wasn’t too late. His note implied that. I could find him in New York just as easily. I wouldn’t give up.
“Okay,” I managed. “Thank you.”
But before I could hang up, the woman added, “Actually… Dr. Tripp, he left something for you. Here at the front desk.”
I blinked. “What?”
“If you come down, we’ll give it to you.”
She said it like it was a scarf or a forgotten phone charger.
I didn’t wait for her to explain more. I left the empty room and rushed for the elevator, stabbing the button like it owed me something and stepped inside the second the doors slid open.
The moment they closed behind me, I finally exhaled.
He left me something? What did that mean?
My heart beat fast and uneven, pressing against my ribs like it wanted to reach the lobby before I did. Like it wasn’t sure whether to brace for hope or heartbreak.
What if he left me his wedding ring?
My stomach turned at the thought. Maybe he’d left it at the front desk like a symbol. A period at the end of our sentence. Final. Clean. Kind, even—Noah would make heartbreak look like grace. He would want to let me down softly.
I stared down at my own left hand. At my own ring glittering in the low light of the elevator, way too beautiful and elegant for something bought drunkenly at three in the morning in Atlantic City.
Slim, simple, elegant. His choice. Not flashy, not cheap.
Just right. Even drunk, Noah had good taste.
I'd almost taken it off last night. I’d touched it a dozen times, twisting it like a loose tooth. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
And now… I was afraid he had.
The elevator dropped floor by floor, each ding echoing in my chest like a countdown. I swore I could hear my pulse in my ears.
What did he leave me? A letter? A goodbye gift? A key to the storage unit where we buried everything good too soon?
The doors opened to the lobby and I stepped out, the room spinning just slightly as I made my way toward the desk.
A woman in a navy blazer glanced up with a warm smile. “Dr. Tripp?”
I nodded, words stuck somewhere between my lungs and throat.
She opened her mouth to say something else.
And that’s when I heard it.
A bark.
Familiar. Sharp. Full of personality and just the right amount of sass.
I turned, hope blooming too fast in my chest, and there he was—Birdie.
Sitting like a show dog in the middle of the lobby, wearing a navy blue bow around his neck and wagging his tail so hard his whole body wiggled. He looked extremely proud of himself, like he had come up with this plan himself as he limped over to me, his leg still in his little cast.
And around his neck, tied with a little ribbon, was a note. I knelt down, fingers fumbling with the twine as Birdie licked my cheek, his entire body vibrating with delight.
The note was short. Written in Noah’s handwriting.
Meet me at the lake.
My hand flew to my mouth, but it wasn’t just surprise that caught me behind the breastbone—it was relief. Sharp and sudden and overwhelming.
He wasn’t done with me.
I hadn’t ruined everything. I hadn’t waited too long. I hadn’t lost him.
Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them, blurring the edges of the note in my hand. My chest felt like it had cracked open and was being filled with light and air and something dangerously close to joy.
Because this wasn’t a goodbye.
This was a breadcrumb.
A trail.
A chance.
Birdie barked, as if to say, Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!
I grabbed Birdie’s leash, giving him a soft kiss between his ears before picking him up off the floor. “I hear ya, little guy. Let’s go find Noah.”
We ran. Again. And I’m so not a runner. And Birdie with his sad, broken leg couldn’t exactly lead the way. But somehow, we managed to sprint down the street together toward the Tripp’s family home.
When the Tripp property came into view, I slowed just enough to catch my breath. The lake shimmered in the distance, familiar and quiet. Trees rustled with a breeze that felt like it had been waiting just for me. I scanned the front yard, half expecting Noah to be standing in the middle of it.
But instead, I saw Lydia, sitting on the front porch, wearing a warm smirk on her face like she knew something I didn’t.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi,” I croaked, my throat tight. “Where is he?”
She handed me something—another folded note . Noah’s handwriting again.
Almost there. Follow the light.
I started to step away, but Lydia gently caught my arm. “Hey…”
I turned back, surprised to see something vulnerable flicker across her face.
“This family? It’s messy. Loud. In your face.
” She smiled, the kind that meant she knew it intimately.
“And coming from a small family myself, just me and my mom… jumping into the middle of it isn’t easy.
But you belong here, Rosa. And not just because of Noah.
Because when the Tripps love you, they love you hard. No conditions. No half-measures.”
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “That’s the kind of love I want, too. Not just in my husband. But in my whole family. My in-laws, my future children… grandchildren, even.”
She let go of my arm, her smile widening.“Good, then go,” she said, nodding toward the woods. “He’s waiting.”
I walked slowly, the path behind the Tripp house narrowing between trees. The sound of the lake lapped softly in the distance. Follow the light . I don’t even know what that means.
Then I spotted them—small lanterns, strung between branches, flickering like stars.
I followed the trail until it finally ended at the treehouse. Noah’s treehouse.
Perched high above the waterline, fairy lights and lanterns decorating it and causing it to glow like a torch against the green leaves around it. Like it had been waiting just for me.
I hoisted Birdie into my arms—grunting under his not-so-little weight—and climbed the wooden steps slowly, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
When I reached the top, I nudged the door open with my shoulder, breath shallow, nerves wound tight.
The inside of the treehouse didn’t look like the dusty children’s dream from the other day. It had been transformed— not perfectly , not professionally, but with the kind of care that made my throat ache.
A soft rug covered the creaky floorboards.
In one corner, a cozy armchair I recognized from the Tripp house had been dragged up here somehow, draped with a green knit throw blanket.
A small end table sat beside it, topped with a mason jar of wildflowers and a reed diffuser sending out gentle vanilla warmth.
And a bowl of oranges sat in the middle of the table.
On a set of wooden crates stacked like makeshift shelves sat a small collection of books.
Not just any books— my psychology books.
Ones I’d talked about in passing to Noah over the years while I’d been in school.
Ones he’d remembered. There was even a well-worn copy of The Body Keeps the Score , marked with a sticky note in Noah’s handwriting that said, “This one made me cry.”
Pinned to the wooden wall were two signs, professionally printed but slightly crooked, like someone had hung them in a rush:
Dr. Rosa Alvarez, PsyD
Private Counseling | Quiet Hearts Welcome
And underneath, another:
Now accepting patients: humans, emotionally confused dogs, and one determined husband determined to earn your heart… forever.