When I finished my shower, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself. The bathroom mirror fogged lightly as the steam filled the air, and I stood there for a moment before reaching behind my neck.
My fingers unclasped the chain. The metal felt cool in my palm as I removed it and looked down at the ring one last time.
Then I walked quietly into my bedroom. From the top drawer of my dresser, I pulled out a small box and placed the chain carefully inside it, closing a door that had remained open for far too long.
I then reached beneath my pillow, and my fingers found Caleb’s photograph that had rested there for so long.
For years, that picture had been something I kept close without fully realizing why. Maybe it had been comfort. Maybe it had been habit. Or maybe it had simply been my way of holding onto something that had once meant everything to me. But now, as I looked at it, the ache that had once accompanied his memory had softened.
I placed the picture inside the same box beside the chain, and as I closed the lid, I felt it—freedom and closure settling quietly inside my chest, like a breath I had been holding for years finally released.
I walked to my closet and placed the box carefully at the very back, tucking it away where it would remain out of sight. I hoped I would never need to open that box again.
Because what Caleb and I had once shared had been beautiful. It had been real, and it had been important.
But now it belonged to another time in my life—a wonderful memory while it lasted, and nothing more than that.
A memory.
“What’sthe first thing you noticed about me?” I asked Cole during one of our date nights.
We had created a small tradition for ourselves over the past few months. Every second Friday of the month was our night. No work, no responsibilities, no interruptions. Just the two of us.
That evening, we had walked down to the wooden dock near the marina. The rhythm of the water lapping against the pilings echoed softly beneath our feet as we strolled along the planks. The air carried the faint scent of salt and seaweed, and the distant glow of lights from the boats shimmered across the dark water.
We sat down at the edge of the dock, our feet dangling over the side.
Cole leaned closer to me.
“Your dimples,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck.
“My dimples?” I frowned slightly, turning toward him. “Why?”
He chuckled under his breath, his eyes soft as he studied my face.
“I noticed them the first time you came to the restaurant,” he said. “You were staring out the window, and you looked so sad. Then you smiled at Lucas, and I saw them. I wasn’t quite ready for it, but they caused pleasurable blindness temporarily.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, giggling despite myself and lightly smacking his leg.
He laughed along with me, his shoulder brushing against mine.
“You know,” he added with mock seriousness, “it should come with its own warning—proceed with caution because it knocks your world off its axis.”
Our laughter faded into a comfortable silence as we both turned to watch the water.
Boats rocked gently in the distance while a few men sat quietly with fishing rods extended over the dark surface. Above us, the night sky stretched wide and endless, the stars scattered across it like sugar spilled over a slab of black marble.
Cole shifted slightly beside me and lifted his hand, pointing toward the ring still resting on his finger.
“Does this bother you?” he asked quietly. “Do you want me to take it off?”
I followed his gaze to the wedding ring.“Not at all,” I said softly, smiling at him.
His brow furrowed slightly, as if he had not seen that answer coming.
“The fact that you’re still wearing it… actually touched my heart,” I continued. “It is your choice if you want to continue to wear it or take it off. I think it is a wonderful and sweet tribute to your late wife.”I lifted his hand and gently stroked my cheek.“She is a part of you,” I said. “She always will be. I can never take her place, nor do I ever want to.”
His eyes softened even more as he looked at me.
