But that’s not who Pia is. She’s his guardian now, responsible for this man in ways I can barely wrap my head around. And knowing her, she’d never walk away from someone who needed her, no matter how much it tears her apart. That’s the kind of person she is—the kind who will hold her ground even when every instinct is telling her to run.
She lets out a shaky breath, and I feel the tremor in her fingers. Then, without another word, she steps forward, her hand slipping from mine as she crosses into a past that, for all my love, I can’t protect her from.
And suddenly, I realize I’m terrified. Terrified of what this means for us, terrified that I’ll lose her to a man she thought was gone. Because how can I compete with that? How can I stand next to the man she was supposed to marry, the man she grieved for, and pretend I’m enough?
She steps forward, her hand reaching out slightly, fingers trembling, and I stand there, rooted to the spot, my throat tight with jealousy and fear. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be right now. Her boyfriend? Her support? Or just the guy who’s about to watch her fall back into a love that might never have died.
Chapter Sixteen
Ophelia
Of all theterrifying things I’ve done in my life, this might be the hardest. The one that makes my heart pound like it’s ready to explode out of my chest. I’ve faced loss before. I’ve stared down countless fears, pulled myself out of dark places I thought I’d never escape.
But this . . . this is different.
This is walking into a room where the past isn’t just a memory. It’s real. The man who died years ago is alive, breathing, waiting for me to . . . what? What is he expecting from me? No one told me. They just called and said it was urgent, that I had to come, that it was my responsibility as his guardian. But beyond that, nothing. No explanation. No details about how, after so many years, he’s suddenly awake.
My mind spins, desperately searching for answers that don’t exist. I wish someone would tell me why I was called after all this time, why they left me in the dark for so long, what exactly I’m supposed to do now. Guardian. The word feels cold, distant. But nothing about this feels distant. This feels like stepping into a nightmare I can’t wake up from. No hiding from it, no running away.
I stare at the door, heart pounding, my palms clammy, my knees ready to buckle. How can I be more afraid of something I once dreamed of with all my heart? Because if he’s really here, awake, then everything changes. Every piece of my life I thought I’d finally put back together . . . it all feels like it’s crumbling, slipping away before I’ve even crossed the threshold.
A warm hand touches mine, bringing me back, and I turn to find Haydn watching me, his gaze calm and steady, his expression filled with the kind of patience and strength I’m struggling to find in myself. He moves closer, and without a word, he wraps me in his arms, pulling me close against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, soothing, a rhythm that anchors me as I stand here on the brink of something I can barely process.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, his voice a soft, comforting murmur. “Whatever happens in there . . . I’m here. I’m right here, Pia.” He pulls back slightly, lifting his hand to my cheek, his thumb brushing gently over my skin.
My throat tightens, and I can feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as I look up at him. “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. He catches a tear with his thumb before it has a chance to fall, his touch light and grounding. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, warm and lingering, letting the moment settle between us.
And then, softly, he dips his head to kiss me fully, a kiss that feels like a promise—like he’s telling me that no matter what’s waiting on the other side of that door, he’ll be here, holding me through it. I clutch his shirt, leaning into him, letting his warmth seep into me.
When he pulls back, he lets his forehead rest against mine for a moment, his hands still cradling me like he’s not ready to let go just yet. “I love you,” he whispers, so gently it fills me up, helping me feel a little stronger, a little more certain.
I take a breath, my fingers lingering on his for one last moment before I turn back to face the door. “I love you too,” I say, voice quiet but full of everything I feel.
With one final squeeze of his hand, I release him, reach for the handle, and step inside. For a second, everything in me freezes. My lungs refuse to draw air, my mind scrambling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing. There he is, the man I thought was gone forever, the man I mourned, the man I buried in some quiet part of myself where I thought he’d stay—safe, untouchable, a memory I’d learn to live with.
Chapter Seventeen
Ophelia
Keane.
Keane Patrick Stone. My Keane. Well, he’s not mine anymore, or . . . fuck who knows what’s going to happen. I take a good look at him and of course he’s him, but different, older than the man I last kissed before getting into the car and our lives were changed forever.
His beard is thick and scruffy, not the neat stubble he used to keep, and there’s a sickly pallor to his skin, a slight hollowness beneath his eyes. And those eyes—they sweep over me with a kind of dazed confusion, searching, as if he’s trying to pull my name from the corners of his mind but can’t quite place it. There’s something lost in his gaze, something that cuts through me in a way I’m not prepared for.
My heart pounds painfully, a mix of fear and something overwhelming that I don’t know how to contain. My breath catches, shallow and uneven, and I press my hand against the wall to steady myself. This is the man I was ready to build my life with, the man I grieved, buried deep in my heart—and now he’s here, but somehow not here at all.
I can barely process it. My stomach twists, a cold dread settling in, knowing this moment was something I never thought I’d have to face. My fingers tremble as years of memories, broken dreams, and not being able to say goodbye flood back in one suffocating wave. I want to say his name, to break this aching silence, but the words die in my throat, caught between grief and guilt. Standing here, looking at him . . . I realize I’m not the same person who loved him. And as he blinks slowly, eyes still trying to place me, I wonder if he’s even the same man I loved.
A thousand memories surge to the surface—the way he used to laugh, the warmth of his hand in mine, the nights we spent whispering promises under a blanket of stars. Forever, we used to say. But those memories feel foreign now, like they belong to someone else, some other version of me that no longer exists. I’m not that girl anymore.
He shifts slightly, trying to sit up, his movements slow and almost clumsy, like he’s relearning how his body works. His eyes focus on me again, that flicker of something—recognition, maybe—passing through them. My heart twists, a tangled messof grief and guilt, because I know what he’s seeing. Not the woman he left behind, not the girl he was supposed to marry. He’s looking at a stranger.
A silent moment stretches between us, thick and charged, words piling up in my throat but refusing to form. I don’t even know what I’d say if I could speak. His name hangs on the tip of my tongue, and yet I can’t say it. Keane. The name that once brought me comfort now feels foreign, heavy with memories I’ve buried too deep to unearth without breaking apart.
Finally, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. Instead, there’s a flicker of frustration, his brows knitting together, his hand curling into a fist on the bed. He looks . . . trapped. Confused. I can see the battle playing out in his mind, see him struggling to remember, to understand, to reach me across the vast distance created by years and silence.
I swallow, my throat dry, every heartbeat sending a fresh wave of ache through my chest. This is the man I had planned to spend my life with. The man I mourned for so long that I thought I’d never feel whole again. I’d imagined this moment so many times in my mind—what it would be like if he somehow came back, if all the pain and emptiness could be undone in an instant.
