"You still shine," he said softly, voice barely above a breath.
And that—God, that undid me.
My heart cracked open in places I thought I'd locked shut. So I told him. Not everything. But enough. The outline of it.
"There was someone," I said. "Aaron. We were engaged. But he... chose someone else."
Liam nodded slowly. He didn't ask for more. Didn't offer me pity.
Instead, he said, "People think love is a feeling. But feelings come and go. Real love is choosing someone. Over and over. Even when it's hard. Especially then."
He turned his head toward me, his cheeks pink but his voice steady.
"You should be chosen, June. Every single day. Every version of you. I don't get how anyone could lose someone like you and just... walk away. That's not love. That's someone who doesn't know what they're holding."
Then he added, so quietly I almost missed it:
"If I ever found something rare on a far-off moon... I wouldn't leave it. I'd stay. I'd build my whole life around it."
I stared at him, breath caught, unsure how to respond.
He looked away first, flustered, pushed his glasses up and checked the time. Then back at me. "I, uh, I want you to come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."
My stomach flipped. "Now?"
He was already pulling on his jacket. "Yeah. It's kind of... important."
"Who?" I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.
He hesitated, then smiled gently. "My most special person; I love her more than I can possibly say."
I didn't know why that stung. But it did.
Still, I followed him. Because something about the way he said it didn't feel threatening. Just honest.
His car waited on the curb—a robin's egg blue Mustang that looked like it belonged in a sepia-toned photograph. He drove incomfortable silence, occasionally humming along to a slow jazz track on the radio.
When we pulled up to a quiet building with warm lights and manicured hedges, I looked at him, confused.
He glanced over, a little nervous now. "Come on."
Inside, the air smelled like flowers and clean linens. A few nurses waved to him. He waved back shyly, like he wasn't used to being noticed.
"She's usually by the window," he said softly, leading the way.
He knocked gently, then opened the door.
A woman sat by the window, elegant even in her age. Her hair was curled and pinned, her posture proud. And when she looked up—
Her eyes matched his exactly.
"Hi, handsome," she said, beaming.
His whole face lit up. "Hi, Mom."
Chapter Twelve: Her North Star
She was sitting by the window when we walked in, her silver hair spun like stardust in the soft light. The pale sun caught in thestrands, lighting her up like the edge of a moonrise. Her eyes—startling blue, the same as Liam's—lifted when she saw him, wide and gleaming with a kind of wonder I didn't expect.
