Epilogue
The Loneliest Kind of Love
T he cemetery was quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps around you, not to soothe—but to remind.
The grass had grown tall at the edges, wildflowers curling around the edges of worn stone markers.
Nate walked slowly, one hand in his coat pocket, the other gripping a small bouquet of lilies—her favorite.
Lila’s name had faded just slightly with time. But it was still hers. Still gentle. Still final.
He crouched down, setting the flowers carefully against the base of her grave. His breath fogged in the early autumn air. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above.
“Hey,” he said softly, like she might answer.
He sat down beside her, resting against the cool marble, knees drawn up. It was his ritual now—every few months, without fail.
“I thought I’d feel less of this ache by now,” he whispered. “But it’s… different. Not softer. Just deeper. Like something that settled in my bones.”
He swallowed hard, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket, but not opening it.
“I don’t know where to start, Lila. I’ve said I’m sorry so many times, but it never feels enough. I replay everything—what I did, what I didn’t. The silence. The betrayal. The way you still tried to protect us, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
He looked out at the sky, where soft gray clouds drifted.
“I miss you,” he said simply. “In ways I can’t name.”
A long pause.
“Ava left for Columbia last fall. Caleb’s at Berkeley. He’s doing well. She’s doing amazing, actually. You’d be so proud.” His voice trembled. “They’re strong. Just like you.”
He brushed a leaf off the stone, fingers lingering.
“But they’re… distant. Not angry anymore. Just… far. I think they do love me. I know they do. But I also know I broke something. Something that won’t come back. We talk. Holidays. Birthdays. Texts. But there’s a wall I can’t reach over. They lean on each other now, the way they used to lean on us.”
He shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips.
“Funny how the one thing you never stop wanting is the one you can never fix.”
A gust of wind blew past him, and Nate closed his eyes, letting the weight of it press into his chest.
“I haven’t been with anyone since you,” he said. “Not because I couldn’t.
Just… I don’t have it in me. Camille disappeared after everything. I didn’t chase her. I didn’t look back. There’s just… no space left in me for anything else.”
He looked down, tears finally slipping free.
“I was loved by someone extraordinary. And I ruined it.”
The words stayed there between them, heavier than stone.
“I’m sorry, Lila. For not choosing you loudly. For making you carry everything alone. For wasting time. For letting you go.”
He pressed his hand to the top of the grave. Cold. Solid. Permanent.
“I hope you found peace,” he said, voice cracking.
“Because I’m still looking for it.”
He stayed there for a long time, the sun dipping low behind the trees, shadows stretching over the grass.
When he finally stood, he kissed his fingers and pressed them gently to her name.
“I love you,” he whispered.
And then he walked away.
Alone.
Still loving her.
Still bearing the weight of her silence.