26. Chapter 26
Cate
Present
“Istill can’t believe it doesn’t fit anymore.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I stared at my reflection, at the careful way the stylist had pinned and released and pinned again, as though my hair were something fragile.
Mr. Woo had said it gently, We’ll take it in here, here, and here, but the truth had landed hard anyway. The dress had changed. Or I had. Maybe both.
The stylist met my eyes in the mirror. “Bodies change,” she said kindly, like she’d said it a thousand times before. “It doesn’t mean anything bad.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her.
I studied myself for another long beat, then finally nodded, decision settling in my chest. “Can you leave it down for now?” I asked. “Maybe show me how to put it up tomorrow? Or we can do it then.”
She smiled, relieved to have direction, and let my hair fall loose again. Dark waves settled over my shoulders, familiar and uncomplicated. Me, the way I’d always been.
“Of course,” she said. “We’ll do whatever feels right.”
Whatever feels right.
Amy caught my eye in the mirror. She didn’t say anything this time. Just gave a small nod, like she was letting something go.
By the time we left the salon, my hair looked perfect - glossy, effortless, ready for a life I still wasn’t sure I wanted. I thanked the stylist, made my next appointment, and let Amy walk a half step ahead of me like she always did when she was trying to bite her tongue.
The drive home was quiet.
I pulled into the narrow driveway of the townhome I’d bought five years ago - back when seeing Trevor had turned into dating Trevor, and dating had slowly turned into a future I hadn’t argued against hard enough. The house was dark, just the way I’d left it.
All the blinds drawn. Curtains pulled tight. Even a blanket tacked over the back window, an extra barrier against the sun.
Amy paused behind me. “You still doing the vampire thing?”
I smiled faintly. “Helps with the headaches.”
That wasn’t the whole truth, but she didn’t push.
Inside, the darkness wrapped around me like something familiar. I navigated the room by memory alone, bumping only once into the edge of the coffee table before collapsing into the recliner.
John’s recliner had matched it once.
I’d gotten rid of his, I couldn’t bear to keep it after everything that happened. The memories were too much, too loud.
This one was mine.
Amy kicked off her shoes and sank onto the couch, sitting upright, hands folded in her lap like she didn’t quite belong in the gloom. She glanced around, clearly itching to open a curtain, but, bless her, she didn’t.
We sat like that for a while. The hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of traffic. My own breathing, uneven and louder than it should have been.
I considered my options.
A nap might help. Rest always helped, at least on the surface.
I’d need energy for the rehearsal dinner tonight, need to be on.
Polite. Gracious. Likable. Trevor’s parents were flying in this afternoon, and I was acutely aware that this was my final audition before I officially became their daughter-in-law.
Before I married Trevor.
Something shifted in my chest. Tightened.
I sat up so fast the room tilted, stars flashing behind my eyes.
Amy looked up immediately. “Cate?”
I swallowed. The thought wasn’t new, I’d circled it for years, carefully, silently, but I’d never said it out loud. Never let it take shape where someone else could hear it.
“What if John comes back?” I asked.
The room went very still.
I let out a breath that shook more than I meant it to. “I know how that sounds. I do. But…” I rubbed my hands together, suddenly cold. “How am I supposed to finish something when it never really ended?”
Amy didn’t answer right away.
“How do you move on,” I continued, voice quiet now, “when the last thing you shared was a fight? When the last time you saw him, you were angry and hurt and sure you’d fix it later?”
I laughed softly, bitter. “People don’t just disappear. They leave. Or they die. Or there’s an explanation.”
Amy shifted closer. “Cate…”
“I don’t even know which one I’m mourning,” I admitted. “The man I loved. The life I thought we were building. Or the version of myself who believed he’d come back.”
The words hung there, fragile and exposed.
“I love Trevor,” I said, because it felt like something I was supposed to say. “I do. And I know it took something special for him to stay. To wait. To stand by when I couldn’t give him all of myself.”
I closed my eyes.
“But what if I’m not choosing him,” I whispered, “so much as choosing the only future that didn’t disappear?”
Amy reached for my hand and held it tight.
And for the first time that day, I let myself admit the thing that scared me most:
I wasn’t afraid of marrying Trevor.
I was afraid of what it would mean if John never came back.