“And the birth control?”
“Handled. I told her my periods are all over the place and painful. She prescribed the pill and said it should help.”
Something in me eases.
A baby isn’t something we can carry right now. Not here. Not like this.
“Good. At least that’s settled.”
She nods, but something’s off. I know her. And I know what’s bothering her.
Birth control makes it real. It closes that door—for now, at least.
“How long do you want to sail this time?” I ask, spreading the charts across the table.
“Forever.”
No hesitation.
I look up at her, and she holds my gaze, meaning every word.
“Where to?”
She’s quiet for a second. “I want to find the island. I need to visit Connor.”
I always knew we’d go back one day. Just not this soon.
In my head, it was something further down the line—after we’d had time, after things settled. Not now. Not while everything still feels this close.
She’s asking me to take her back to the only place she still has him.
“I’ll need time to do it right. Charts, weather windows, island chains. I’ve got a rough sense of where we were, but I need to go over it. Make sure.”
“Take the time you need.” She reaches out, resting her hand on the chart. “I’ll handle supplies.”
For the next week, I’m at the table for hours—charts, weather systems, satellite maps spread out and marked up. Cross-checking everything against what I remember.
It doesn’t come back clearly. Not like that. It’s pieces. Instinct more than memory—the way the water moved, wind patterns at certain times of year, distances that feel right or wrong without me being able to explain why.
Slowly, it starts to take shape.
I think I can find it.
Charlotte handles the rest. She orders everything and has it delivered. We don’t step foot in a store again. She plans for time—real time. Protein. Shelf-stable food. Medical supplies. Backups for the things we didn’t have before.
I watch her work, and it hits me—not for the first time—that she’s the most capable person I know.
And I didn’t always see it.
Back on the island, I spent years keeping us alive. Somewhere along the way, I missed the fact that she was the one keeping us together.
By the end of the week, thanks to Charlotte, the yacht is fully stocked.
And we leave in the morning.
The knock comesat seven thirty-two in the morning. I know because I check the monitor before opening the door. Habit now. Two people I don’t recognize stand back from the gate.
I open it.
