Chapter 18 #2
"I'm not running. I'm taking space before I say something I can't take back."
"You've already said plenty."
I turn to face her one last time. "So have you."
***
The drive is automatic—muscle memory taking over where conscious thought fails. I don't realize where I'm heading until I'm already pulling into the cemetery, parking near the section I know too well.
Dad's headstone is simple. Just his name, dates, and 'Beloved Father.' I'd scattered most of his ashes in California where he'd died after treatment, but kept some to bury here next to Mom, where he'd always belonged.
I sit on the cold grass, not caring about the morning dew soaking through my jeans.
"I'm losing her again, Dad." The words echo in the empty cemetery. "Or maybe I never really had her back."
The stone offers no answers, just like he couldn't in those final months when the cancer took his voice before it took the rest of him.
"You told me not to let her go. But how do I hold onto someone who keeps choosing everything else?" My voice cracks. "How do I trust her when she proves me right about not trusting her?"
A crow caws from a nearby tree, the only response I get.
I think about patterns—how Harper and I keep circling the same wounds. Her ambition versus my need for security. My fear of abandonment versus her fear of being controlled. We're like two broken pieces that almost fit but not quite, our jagged edges cutting each other every time we try.
She said he pushed her against the car. Cornered her.
The rage floods through me again—I should be at Daniel's office right now, should be making sure he never touches her again. But I'm here instead, paralyzed by the hurt of her not listening, of her walking into his trap despite every warning.
"Maybe we're just too damaged," I tell the stone. "Maybe some things can't be fixed."
But even as I say it, I know I don't want it to be true. I love Harper. Love her sunshine smile and her ambition and her stubbornness and even the way she makes me crazy. I love her, but I don't know if love is enough when trust is gone.
My phone buzzes.
Lucas:
Harper's packing a bag. Maya's trying to slow her down but you might want to get back.
Packing. Of course. When things get hard, we both have our patterns. I leave physically. She leaves emotionally first, then follows through with the rest.
I stand, brush the grass off my jeans. "I don't know what to do, Dad. I don't know how to fix this."
The cemetery stays silent. No wisdom from beyond, no sign of what to do. Just me and my fears and a relationship that's crumbling no matter how hard we've tried to rebuild it.
Twenty minutes. That's how long the drive home takes. Twenty minutes to figure out if we're worth saving or if we're just prolonging the inevitable.
***
When I pull into our driveway, Harper's car is still here but the house feels different. Empty in a way that has nothing to do with physical presence. Duke meets me at the door, tail between his legs, anxious whining that tells me everything.
Maya appears in the hallway, her expression careful. "She's upstairs," she says quietly. "I'll wait in the car." She squeezes my arm once as she passes, then slips outside.
I find Harper in our bedroom, pulling clothes from the closet, setting them in neat piles on the bed. Not throwing them in a bag in anger, but folding each item carefully, like she's packing for a business trip instead of potentially ending our life together.
"Are you leaving?"
She doesn't look up. "Should I stay?"
The question hangs there, heavier than any argument.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer, Nate."
"Neither is packing."
She finally meets my eyes, and she looks as destroyed as I feel. "Isn't it? You told me not to come home last night. You just left again rather than talk. What am I supposed to do?"
"Fight for us. Stay and fight instead of running."
"Like you fought? By walking out?"
"I came back."
"This time." She places a sweater in the pile—the one she wore to our first date after I returned. "But there's always a next time with us, isn't there? Another fight, another reason to leave."
I lean against the doorframe, exhausted. "Where would you go?"
"Maya's for now. Then... I don't know. Maybe see if the Regional Statesman will hire me full-time. Fresh start."
"Six weeks before our wedding."
"What wedding?" Her voice cracks. "The one where half the guests think I'm cheating? The one where you can't trust me? The one we're both too stubborn to cancel even though we know we're broken?"
Duke pushes past me, goes to Harper, puts his head on her leg. She scratches behind his ears automatically, and a tear drops onto his fur.
"I don't want you to go," I admit, the words pulled from somewhere deep.
"But you don't want me to stay either."
She's right. I'm frozen between terror of losing her and terror of keeping her. Between knowing we're toxic and knowing I love her too much to let go.
"Daniel assaulted you." The words come out rough. "He put his hands on you, cornered you, and I wasn't there."
"You couldn't have known—"
"But I did know. I knew he was predatory. I knew he wanted you. And I let you go anyway because I was tired of fighting about it."
Harper stops folding. "You let me go?"
"What was I supposed to do? Chain you to the house? Forbid you?" I run my hands through my hair. "You're not someone who can be controlled, Harper. You never have been. It's one of the things I love about you."
"Loved."
"Love. Present tense. Even now, even with everything, I love you."
She sinks onto the bed, surrounded by the clothes that represent our unraveling. "Love isn't enough, though, is it?"
"I don't know anymore."
We stare at each other across our bedroom, two people who love each other but can't figure out how to stop hurting each other.
"I'll go to Maya's tonight," she says finally. "We both need space to think."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Neither of us mentions that once she leaves, she might not come back.
Harper zips the overnight bag—the sight of it makes my chest seize.
"We should talk about the wedding," she says quietly.
"What about it?"
"Whether we're having one."
The words I've been avoiding hang in the air like a death sentence. Six weeks away, vendors booked, deposits paid, families and friends notified. June's been working on the cake for weeks.
"Maybe we should postpone," Harper says, not looking at me. "Until we figure things out."
"Postpone." The word tastes like failure. "For how long?"
"I don't know. Until we can trust each other? Until the town forgets what they think they saw? Until we stop hurting each other?" Her laugh is bitter. "So maybe forever."
"Maybe we should just cancel."
The words fall out before I can stop them, landing between us like a bomb. Harper's face goes white.
"Cancel," she repeats. "Just... cancel. Eight years of history, six months of rebuilding, and we just cancel."
"As opposed to what? Getting married when we can't even stay in the same house? When Daniel just blew up our entire world? When we both know we're one fight away from imploding?"
She stands, grabs her bag. "Fine. You want to cancel? Cancel. Call June, tell her to stop the cake. Tell the vendors we changed our minds. Tell everyone that Nate and Harper couldn't make it work. Again."
"Harper—"
"No, you're right. Why pretend? Why go through the motions when we both know how this ends?"
She's at the bedroom door now, Duke following anxiously.
"How does it end?" I ask, even though I don't want to know.
"Same way it did six years ago. With one of us leaving and the other one letting them go."
She heads down the stairs. I follow, my feet heavy.
"So that's it? We're done?"
Harper pauses at the front door, hand on the knob. "I don't know, Nate. You tell me. Are we?"
I want to say no. Want to grab her, hold her, fix this. But the words stick in my throat because I honestly don't know anymore.
"I'll be at Maya's," she says to my silence. "When you figure out what you want, let me know."
She leaves, taking Duke's happiness with her. He whines at the door, pawing at it like he can bring her back.
I stand in our empty house, staring at the door she just walked through.
The ring box sits on our dresser upstairs—the one that was supposed to represent our fresh start, our second chance.
Maybe some chances aren't meant to be taken. Maybe some people are too broken to put back together.
My phone buzzes.
June:
Please tell me the wedding is still on.
I don't answer. I can't.
Because right now, six weeks from what should be the happiest day of our lives, I honestly don't know if there will be a wedding at all.