“What is it?” he asked, searching her face for clues.
“Something important,” she said, her expression resolute though tinged with nervousness. “Something I need to do alone.”
In the past, such a statement would have triggered his insecurities, made him press for details or try to control the situation. Now, Liam simply nodded, accepting her need without demanding explanation.
“Whatever you need,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Relief softened her features, gratitude for his understanding washing over her face. She squeezed his hand gently before releasing it, the physical connection broken but something deeper remaining intact.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Later, alone in his bedroom, Liam stood at the window watching the rain trace silver pathways down the glass. Despite the uncertainties still lingering between them, he felt lighter than he had in days. Each small moment of reconnection, each careful step toward trust — they were building something, slowly but surely.
Through a gap in the curtains, movement caught his eye. Sunny stood in the garden, face tilted up to the rain-washed sky, arms wrapped around herself against the chill. The sight of her, solitary and contemplative beneath the vast sky, stirred something protective in him.
His first instinct was to go to her, to offer a jacket or shelter from the rain. But he held himself back, recognizing that she needed this moment alone, this space to process whatever lay heavy on her heart.
So instead, he watched over her from a distance, honoring her journey while silently promising his presence whenever she was ready to come in from the rain.
When she finally turned back toward the house, her face seemed lighter, as if some decision had been made. Liam stepped away from the window, not wanting her to feel observed in her private moment.
Later, as he lay in bed, his hand rested on the empty space beside him. A space that had remained vacant since Kate’s death, that had briefly seemed destined to remain so forever.
Now, as sleep began to claim him, Liam allowed himself to hope that someday soon, it might not be empty anymore.
Not to replace what was lost, but to create something new — something built on understanding, on growth, on choosing each other even when itwas hard.
On real love, as his wise daughter would say.
Sunny
Sunny found herself parked in a quiet lot, engine idling, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had turned white. The mid-morning sun filtered through a patchwork of clouds, casting shifting shadows across the windshield of her car.
She’d driven the twenty minutes from the Anderson home with steely determination, only to find her courage evaporating the moment the wrought iron gates came into view. Once before, she’d sat in this exact spot, willing herself to step out of the car, to walk the manicured paths to the destination she’d never visited but whose location she’d memorized from a map. Once before she’d failed.
“This is ridiculous,” Sunny whispered to herself, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror. The woman staring back looked tired but resolute, her blue eyes shadowed with the weight of purpose. “You’re a grown woman. It’s just a… place.”
But it wasn’t just any place. And it wasn’t just any visit.
Three days had passed since her return to the Anderson household. Three days of careful navigation, of rebuilding trust, of catching the girls watching her with lingering fear that she might disappear again. Three days of Liam’s patient presence, keeping his promise to give her space while making it clear he was waiting, hoping, for whatever came next.
Last night, sitting on the sofa with his hand in hers, she’d almost let herself be swept away by the magnetic pull between them. But something had held her back — this unfinished business before she could fully give her heart again.
With trembling fingers, Sunny reached for the small bundle on the passenger seat — wildflowers she’d picked from the garden that morning, their stems wrapped in a damp paper towel and tied with a ribbon. The same delicate purple and white blooms she’d noticed in so many photographs around the house.
“Now or never,” she told herself, finally turning off the engine.
The silence that followed felt heavy, expectant. In the distance, a groundskeeper’s lawnmower hummed, the sound oddly comforting in its mundanity. Life continuing, as it always did, even in places dedicated to those who had passed beyond it.
Sunny stepped out of the car, her legs steadier than she’d expected. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and the earthy dampness that lingered after yesterday’s rain. She took a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs completely before releasing it slowly. The weight in her chest remained, but she could breathe around it now.
The landscape stretched before her, a rolling expanse of marble and granite monuments interspersed with ancient oak trees. Unlike the first time she’d attempted this visit, today Sunny didn’t hesitate at the entrance. She walked through the gates with purpose, her sandals crunching softly against the gravel path.
As the family plot came into view, Sunny’s steps slowed. It was more elaborate than she’d expected. Clearly tended regularly, the flowers freshly watered, not a weed in sight.
And there, on the right side of the family marker, was the individual stone. Simple yet elegant, just like the woman herself had been, according to everything Sunny had heard.
KATHERINE MARIE ANDERSON
