Epilogue
Calla
Morning spills softly through the windows, turning the dust motes gold. But the apartment feels vacant.
Every room echoes with the traces of who we used to be—
Me, cooking barefoot in the kitchen, waiting for Haiyden to come home—always pretending like I wasn’t watching the clock.
Haiyden, leaning against the doorway, watching me like he couldn’t decide whether to pull me into his arms or carry me to the bedroom and lock the door behind us.
Us, tangled up on the living room floor at midnight, whispering like the world would disappear if we spoke too loudly.
These walls held our secrets, our stumbles, the soft places we landed after falling apart.
Now, they’re bare.
It’s just a place again. But for a while, it felt like home.
I stand in the doorway, fingers brushing over a strip of chipped paint—a detail I never noticed before, but now feels like the only proof we were ever here. There’s something so final in the silence. Not heavy. Just… settled. Like the apartment already knows we’re gone.
The last boxes sit by the door. I stare at them for a long moment, tracing their edges, feeling the quiet grief in everything we’re leaving behind—the ordinary things that built a life. Two ZZ plants. An old mug. His sweatshirt folded on top of mine.
Beside Haiyden, Margot whines softly, her tail tapping against the floor. She knows something’s changing. She’s been pacing all morning, sniffing corners, nudging our hands—like she’s trying to figure out what we’re taking with us, and what we’re leaving behind.
The sound draws Chase from the other room. He steps into the doorway, eyes already shining. He doesn’t speak—just meets my gaze and gives a small nod, like he understands.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He pulls both of us into a tight hug, arms wrapping around me and Haiyden. His grip tightens for a second, like he doesn’t want to let go. I swipe the tears from his face, then brush at my own.
When he disappears back into his bedroom, I take one final look. One last breath in the space that held our wreckage and our rebuilding.
And then, with the soft click of the door, we leave it behind.
The tires roll over familiar roads, past places that once meant everything.
Maple & Clover, where Maggie always smiled and the dogs curled up at my feet while I waited.
The bookstore, where I lost hours between the shelves, pretending the endings I read might someday feel like mine.
Driftwood, where I learned that love can be loud, even in a place that feels like a graveyard .
We’ve outgrown it.
We agreed it was time—to let go, to begin again.
This time, we’re not leaving in pieces.
We’re choosing something whole.
I glance at Haiyden as he drives. He’s quiet, jaw tight, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, eyes locked on the road. But I see it—the tears he won’t let fall, the way he swallows hard like it might keep them down.
I know he’s thinking about Chase. About the brotherhood that saved him when he didn’t know how to save himself.
About the kind of loyalty that didn’t come with conditions.
“I know leaving was hard for you,” I say gently.
His grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles going white.
“We’re close enough to visit,” I remind him softly.
Because I’ll never take that from him. Not his people. Not his place. I won’t let him believe choosing me means losing everything else.
He nods—just barely. And I know what it means. He’s not ready. Not fully. But he’s choosing us anyway.
At the next tight turn out of town, he reaches for my hand. Steers with the other like it’s second nature—like he’s done it a hundred times, and he’ll do it a hundred times more.
I glance back one last time, watching the town shrink in the rearview mirror.
A place that broke me open. That gave me loss—but also gave me something worth staying for.
And when it finally disappears, I see the shift in Haiyden.
His face is unreadable—but calm .
The kind of calm that comes when the storm breaks—when the sky is still heavy, but the worst has already passed.
When what’s left isn’t perfect, but it’s still standing.
We drive until the trees thicken and the world grows quiet again.
The lake is exactly as we left it—still, dark, endless.
The spring air is crisp, the scent of pine and wind sharp in my lungs as we step out onto the rocky shore.
The water reflects the sky. Reflects us.
The mountains rise in the distance—jagged, unwavering—like they’ve been waiting for our return.
Haiyden stops first. Hands in his pockets. Gaze fixed on the water.
I watch him for a moment and wonder what he sees—
His sister.
The boy he used to be.
The pieces of his past he could never put down.
“She would’ve loved you,” he says quietly.
I swallow.
I never met Willow, but I feel her here—in the set of Haiyden’s shoulders. In the birdsong threading through the trees like a whisper. Like she never fully left. Like she’s folded into him somehow, in all the ways he doesn’t say out loud.
I take a step closer to the edge, looking down at the lake.
And I feel Jules.
Not a ghost. Not a shadow. Just a soft, steady ache in my chest that never really left.
I don’t say anything, but I wonder if she can see me now—
If she knows I still carry her in every piece of myself I had to rebuild.
Haiyden reaches for my hand, holding it tightly.
We stand there, side by side, unmoving. The wind rustles the trees. But we stay still—like we’re giving the world a moment to catch up with us.
And when the breeze finally distorts our reflection, for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a wound that won’t heal.
It just feels like a beginning. Like we can be whole, even as everything changes.
Haiyden exhales, then turns from the water.
But I hesitate.
My fingers tighten around his. He squeezes back.
And we turn away together.
As we walk, I feel it—that old instinct to look back.
I glance over my shoulder, our hands still linked. Haiyden must feel it too, because he stops beside me and looks back.
It’s a long look. But it isn’t longing.
It’s something quieter.
Acceptance.
Acceptance that this is us now. That the ghosts will always walk beside us. That the people we lost shaped who we became.
That we’ll carry them forward. Mourn them together.
And still choose to live—not in spite of the grief, but alongside it.
When we’re back in the car, my fingers find the ring on my left hand, twisting it mindlessly. The metal is solid against my skin. Familiar. Real. Like us.
I think about the morning he proposed all the time—Margot bounding into the room with a shiny cloth bag tied around her collar. A bandana stitched with dark, careful letters :
Will you marry my daddy?
Haiyden stood in the doorway, a plate of pancakes in his hands, shoulders tense, knuckles white.
Then, softly:
“Okay?”
I smiled—heart full, hands shaking.
“Okay.”
He didn’t have to say much. He never did. Just stood there, holding out a future like it was the only thing he had left to give.
No fairytales. No promises we couldn’t keep. Just a quiet kind of forever.
Margot lets out a soft sigh from the backseat, then curls into a tight little ball.
I settle into the passenger’s seat. Haiyden’s hands grip the wheel. Our fingers find each other without thinking.
The past will always be a part of us—Jules, Willow, and every rain-soaked moment that made us who we are.
But we’re not standing in the ruins anymore.
I glance at the dashboard, where a small origami butterfly rests—its wings carefully folded, edges worn soft.
The first one I ever made. Haiyden had been so proud—he glued it there like it was more than just paper.
I let out a breath, this one light. Unburdened.
Margot lets out a happy howl from the backseat. Haiyden lifts our hands to his lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles.
The road stretches wide in front of us, but this time, we’re not chasing anything.
We’re just home.