The water at midnight—black, endless, full of promise.
Her.
Always her.
The heat. The hunger. The way everything burned brighter because it couldn’t last.
When I open my eyes, tears are running down my face.
I don’t bother wiping them away.
“Daddy?” Hayden says, hopping down now, worry replacing playfulness.
I crouch in front of her, swiping at my cheeks, embarrassed and undone all at once.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Just… memories.”
She considers that, serious in a way only kids can be. Then she presses her half-eaten cone into my hand.
“Here,” she says. “Ice cream makes everything better, right?”
I laugh. A real one. It cracks something open and seals something else shut.
“Yeah,” I say. “It does.”
Later that night, after she’s asleep—sunburned, exhausted, happy—I sit on the balcony with my phone.
I don’t know why I do it. Curiosity, maybe. Nostalgia. A need to know where everyone landed.
Beth first.
New Jersey. Married. Golden retrievers. Smiling kids. A life that looks warm and earned.
My thumb hovers overAdd Friend.
I don’t press it.
Some doors are better left closed.
I scroll through a few more names. Faces I recognize but don’t really know anymore. Lives that moved on without me.
Then—
Her.
Everything is private.
Of course it is.
Her profile says one thing:Chicago.
She was always a city girl.
I hesitate, then Google.
Her name. Chicago. Sales rep.
It doesn’t take long.
