43. Chapter 43
Cate
Present
Ihadn’t expected to be so tired.
Two weeks in St. Lucia had been filled with sun and warmth and ease, the kind of days that slipped into one another without edges. But the moment we were back in Denver, the weight of everything settled in. The altitude. The cooler air. The quiet that wasn’t the ocean.
I slept nearly two full days after we got home.
Even when I finally dragged myself out of bed, my limbs felt heavy, my thoughts slow and cotton-soft, like I hadn’t quite caught up to my body yet.
“They should put a warning label on honeymoons,” I murmured as I shuffled toward the closet.
Trevor laughed from where he stood near the dresser, already dressed for work, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Exhausting, huh?”
I pushed open the closet door and froze.
The space was immaculate. Too immaculate. Trevor’s suits were arranged by color, shoes lined beneath them, everything pristine. My side of the closet was… sparse to say the least.
I pushed hangers aside, frowning.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I stepped back out into the bedroom. “I have nothing to wear.”
Trevor turned, eyebrows lifting. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said, gesturing helplessly, “I literally have nothing to wear.”
He crossed the room and peeked into the closet, scanning quickly. “Huh. You’re right.” He glanced at me, puzzled but calm. “Your suits - are they still at the townhouse?”
“I think so.” The words came out smaller than I expected.
“That’s okay,” he said easily. “I can swing by and grab a few for you before work.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I told my boss I wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
He studied my face, just long enough for me to notice. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, hoping it looked convincing. “I think I just need one more day.”
Trevor nodded slowly. “Alright.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He grabbed his wallet and keys, gave me one last smile, and headed out.
I waited until I heard the garage door close and the car pull away. Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I sank back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. For two weeks, we’d barely been apart - meals together, walks together, sleep tangled and warm. It had been nice. Easy. Comforting.
But now, with the house quiet again, I realized how much I needed this space. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I needed to remember how to be alone.
I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, slipped into sandals, and grabbed my purse. The Lexus waited in the driveway, gleaming like it always did.
I smiled as I climbed inside, then pulled out of the driveway and headed toward my townhome.
The place looked exactly as I’d left it - quiet, familiar, untouched. Newspapers littered the front step, and a stack of mail waited just inside the door. I frowned, realizing I’d forgotten to ask anyone to check on it.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of dust and old coffee. My furniture sat where I’d left it. My shoes still lined the wall. My life - paused, not erased.
I moved through the rooms slowly, opening drawers, touching things I hadn’t realized I’d missed. Photos. Books. A chipped mug I’d never packed.
I sat on the edge of the bed and let myself feel it - the strange ache of standing between two lives. Married now. Changed. But still here, too.
I knew Trevor wanted to come with me. He would’ve offered to help, to pack, to organize. To make it efficient.
I wasn’t ready for that.
I curled onto my side and stared at the opposite wall, listening to the quiet settle around me. The warmth of St. Lucia felt impossibly far away. The ocean, the laughter, the easy way the days had unfolded - all of it already slipping.
I closed my eyes and tried to hold onto it.
But the house stayed quiet.
And for the first time since we’d landed, I felt the honeymoon ending.