EPILOGUE FIVE MONTHS LATER
“ J ust shift that support beam two feet to the left,” I say, pointing to the exposed framework where the conference room wall will eventually stand. “We need to maintain the sight line to the river.”
The foreman nods, scribbling on his clipboard.
“Got it, Ms. Miller. Any other adjustments before we pour the foundation for the extension tomorrow?” I scan the partially constructed framework, mentally comparing it to the blueprints I’ve pored over for countless hours.
This is more than just another project—it’s the expansion of Conor’s business headquarters, the physical manifestation of his growing success that I’ve poured my heart into designing down to the last detail.
“The skylights need to be angled five degrees more toward the south to maximize natural light during winter months,” I say, gesturing upward. “Otherwise, everything looks perfect.”
Dust dances in the afternoon sunlight as I make my way across the site, the familiar weight of my hard hat snug against my scalp. My boots crunch over scattered pebbles and wood chips as I double-check measurements, running my fingers along the rough-hewn beams.
When I finally emerge from the construction zone, I spot Conor leaning against his sleek black Audi, aviator sunglasses catching the light as he scrolls through his phone. He looks up at my approach, and even from twenty feet away, I can feel the warmth of his smile.
“There’s my architect,” he says, pocketing his phone and pushing off from the car. “You know, you make that hard hat look sexier than anyone has a right to.”
I roll my eyes, but pleasure warms my cheeks. "It’s the sawdust. Very alluring. I made sure to dab some behind my ears."
“That must be it.” His eyes travel down my dust-covered jeans and work boots with undisguised appreciation. “How’d it go in there?"
“Just a few minor adjustments. The project’s right on schedule.” I reach up to remove my hard hat, shaking out my hair. “You’ll love it.”
Conor steps forward, brushing a smudge of dirt from my cheek with his thumb. “Not as much as I love the woman who designed it.”
He takes the hard hat from my hands, placing it carefully in the back seat before opening the passenger door for me. As I slide into the leather seat, a prickling sensation at the base of my neck makes me look up.
Across the street, partially obscured by a parked delivery truck, stands Devon.
My stomach drops like I’ve missed a step on a staircase, a hollow feeling that spreads outward until my fingertips tingle.
He’s wearing one of his impeccably tailored charcoal suits, complete with the subtle pinstripe he favors —the one that costs more than my first month’s rent.
His sandy blonde hair catches the sunlight, perfectly styled despite the spring breeze that ruffles the new leaves above him.
His jaw is set in that familiar way—tense, controlled.
He doesn’t wave or acknowledge me, just stands there with his hands in his pockets, watching with those pale blue eyes that give away nothing, his expression as closed as a vault.
Conor follows my gaze, his body tensing slightly beside me. “Is that?—”
"Devon,” I confirm, my voice tighter than I intended. “I haven’t seen him since...” Since that awkward encounter at the coffee shop months ago, I’d firmly told him I was moving on and meant it this time.
Conor slides into the driver’s seat beside me, his expression carefully neutral. “Do you want to talk to him?”
I twist the diamond engagement ring on my finger, watching how it catches the light. The weight of it still feels new, thrilling. We haven’t set a date yet, but we’ve started planning a fall wedding.
“Do you think I should tell him we’re getting married? I ask, still watching Devon across the street. “He’s going to find out eventually.”
Conor takes my hand, pressing his lips gently against my knuckles just above the ring. His eyes meet mine, calm and confident. "That’s entirely up to you, baby. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
The simple statement encompasses everything I love about him—his unwavering support, his respect for my choices, his quiet confidence that doesn’t need to control or manipulate .
When I look back across the street, Devon has disappeared.
---
Later that night, I stand in our bathroom, removing my makeup while Conor brushes his teeth beside me. The domesticity of it still surprises me sometimes—how easily we’ve fallen into these shared routines, how natural it feels to build a life together.
“I think I might approach Devon the next time I see him,” I say, meeting Conor’s eyes in the mirror. “Clear the air. Tell him about the engagement.”
Conor rinses his mouth, setting his toothbrush in the holder next to mine. “If that’s what you want to do."
“I think it is.” I lean against the counter, studying his face. “Does it bother you? That he keeps showing up?"
“What bothers me is the thought of him upsetting you." Conor’s hands find my waist, warm through the thin fabric of my nightgown. “But I’m not threatened by him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I rise on tiptoes to kiss him, tasting mint and feeling the slight roughness of his evening stubble against my palm. “Good. Because there’s no competition.”
His arms encircle me completely, lifting me onto the bathroom counter with effortless strength. My nightgown rides up as I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer.
“Prove it,” he whispers against my neck, his voice sending shivers down my spine.
I don’t think about Devon again until morning, when my phone pings with a text message from an unknown number:
We need to talk. It’s important. Meet me at Riverside Park, near the 79th Street entrance. Tomorrow, at noon.
I know without checking who it’s from. The certainty settles in my stomach like a stone as I stare at the screen, Conor’s steady breathing beside me in our bed.
I should delete it. I should block the number. I should tell Conor.
Instead, I find myself typing:
Fine. But this is the last time, Devon.
His response comes immediately:
Thank you. You won’t regret it.
But as I set my phone down and curl back into Conor’s warmth, I already do.
The next day at noon, I’m sitting on a bench at Riverside Park, the Hudson River stretching before me like a vast steel ribbon catching fragments of sunlight.
Spring has fully awakened here—cherry blossoms dot the landscape with explosions of pale pink, while fresh grass pushes through the soil with determined optimism.
I absently twist my engagement ring, a nervous habit I’ve developed in the short time it’s adorned my finger.
Conor is somewhere behind me, keeping a respectful distance. When I told him about Devon’s message over breakfast, his response was exactly what I needed.
“I’ll drive you,” he’d said, squeezing my hand. "I’ll stay out of sight, but close enough if you need me.”
No jealousy, no demands to see the texts, just that steady support that has become my foundation.
I spot Devon before he sees me. He walks with that confident stride I once found so attractive, hands in the pockets of another perfectly tailored suit—navy this time.
The spring breeze ruffles his hair in a way that seems almost choreographed.
He looks like he belongs in a magazine spread rather than a park on a Tuesday afternoon.
“Betsy.” My name on his lips still holds a trace of the intimacy we once shared, but it no longer sends electricity through my veins. “Thank you for coming."
“You said it was important.” I maintain a neutral and professional tone. “So here I am.”
He sits beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. I catch a whiff of his cologne—the same expensive brand he’s worn since college. Once, that scent meant comfort and desire. Now it’s just a fragrance, pleasant but unremarkable.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes traveling over my face like he’s memorizing it. “Happy."
“I am happy,” I confirm, not offering any further explanation.
Devon takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the river. "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few months. About us. About what went wrong.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “I made a mistake, Bets. The biggest mistake of my life.”
I wait, watching a jogger pass by with her golden retriever bounding ahead on a red leash.
“I took you for granted,” he continues, turning those blue eyes back to me.
“I always thought you’d be there, waiting, while I figured things out.
And then suddenly you weren’t.” His hand moves toward mine but stops short of touching.
"I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.
You’ve always been the one for me—I was just too blind, too stupid to see it. ”
The words hang between us, words I once desperately wanted to hear. I feel nothing but a distant sadness for the girl who would have melted at this declaration.
“I want your forgiveness, Betsy.” His voice cracks slightly. “And maybe... I think some part of you still wants this—wants us. I can see it in your eyes.”
A small smile forms on my lips, not unkind but resolute. “I’m not angry with you, Devon. I forgive you.”
Hope flickers across his face.
“But what you’re seeing isn’t longing,” I continue. "It’s closure."
“Betsy, please?—"
“Your bullshit actually did me a favor.” I gesture vaguely with my left hand, my engagement ring catching the sunlight. “It left me single long enough to make room for the man of my dreams."
Devon’s eyes fix on the diamond, his expression freezing.
“You know, we were placeholders for each other in a way,” I say, the realization crystallizing as I speak it. “I was your safety net while you decided if something better might come along. And you were my... I don’t know, my practice run at love.”
“That’s not fair,” he protests, color rising in his cheeks. “What we had was real."
“It was real,” I agree. “And I’ll always care about you, Devon. But I’m in love with a man who didn’t need to lose me to realize I was the one. He knew it from the start."
Devon’s jaw tightens, that controlled anger I recognize from our worst arguments. “So that’s it? Years together, and you’ve just... moved on?”
"Yes.” The simplicity of my answer seems to wound him more than anything else could .
He stands abruptly, straightening his jacket with a sharp tug. “I hope he deserves you.”
"He doesn’t have to deserve me,” I say quietly. "That’s not how love works. We choose each other, every day.”
Devon looks past me, his expression shifting. I follow his gaze to see Conor approaching slowly, giving us space but making his presence known.
“I should go,” Devon says stiffly.
I nod. “Goodbye, Devon.”
He walks away without another word, his shoulders rigid under that perfect suit. I watch him go, feeling lighter with each step he takes away from me. The chapter closes so definitively that I can almost hear the sound of a book shutting.
Conor sits beside me, his warmth familiar and welcome. He doesn’t ask what happened; he just takes my hand, our fingers intertwining with practiced ease.
“You okay?” he asks after a moment.
I lean against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—cedar and coffee and home. “Never better.”
Above us, cherry blossoms drift on the breeze like pink snow, and the river keeps flowing, constant and sure, carrying everything forward.