“Now we’re talking,” Lila said, coming to stand beside me, looking down at the sprawl of papers. “When?”
“I need to get on the town council agenda. They loved the idea at our Driftwood Beach fundraiser. I can’t do it without their backing.”
“When?” Lila asked again.
“Next council meeting.” I moved to my laptop and brought up the meeting schedule. “It’s next Tuesday. I have time.”
Lila was quiet for a moment, studying the plans with careful attention. “Then let’s make it count.”
The townhouse wasn’t a prison anymore. It wasn’t a tomb of dead dreams. It was a war room, and I wasn’t frozen anymore. I was fighting.
I opened a document on my laptop. “I need to rethink the funding strategy. Two grants rejected doesn’t mean the concept is flawed—it means I pitched it wrong. Or to the wrong people. The second one even said as much.” I started typing, my thoughts already spinning forward, past the pain, past the rejection, to the work. “There are federal and regional conservation initiatives I haven’t explored. Private donors who specialize in reef restoration. University research partnerships.”
Lila settled onto the edge of the sofa with her ice cream. “What about Braden?”
The question hung there between us. I kept typing, my fingers moving over the keyboard as I tried to articulate something I was only just beginning to understand.
“I can’t prove anything to him if I can’t stand up for myself,” I said finally. “And maybe that’s not even the point. Maybe the point is just that I’m choosing to stay. Choosing to fight. Choosing my own life. Whether he’s part of that future...” I trailed off, not quite able to finish the thought. “That’s a question for later.”
What I didn’t say was that Braden’s presence or absence would hurt either way. If he stayed gone, it would be a constant ache—a reminder of what we’d both been too afraid to fight for. If he came back, it would mean facing what we’d done to each other, what we’d both surrendered when we should have held on.
But those were problems for future Tessa. Present Tessa had a conservation center to save and a presentation to prepare. And for the first time since Braden broke my heart, I had something that felt more important than my own pain.
I had myself back.
The night deepened around us. I worked through the evening while Lila sat in companionship, occasionallyasking a question or offering an observation. We ordered takeout from the Thai place on Main Street. We drank tea as my laptop battery slowly died. Instead of plugging it in, I switched to pen and paper and sketched out new funding strategies, new partnerships, new angles of attack.
By midnight, my dining table was an organized chaos of plans and possibilities. Not guarantees. The obstacles were still formidable. But they were obstacles I could see now, problems I could work toward solving instead of drowning in.
“You okay?” Lila asked as she gathered her things to leave, the late hour finally catching up with us.
I looked around at the evidence of my determination—all those papers, all those possibilities. Yesterday, I saw them as proof of my foolishness. Tonight, I saw them as a blueprint.
“Yeah. I’m going to be okay.”
She hugged me fiercely at the door. “Damn right you are. And Tessa? The woman Braden fell in love with? This woman right here—the one willing to fight for something she believes in?” Lila gestured back at the war room I’d created. “That’s the version of you that’s going to change things. That’s the version that’s going to make him regret ever letting you go.”
I didn’t correct her. I didn’t say that maybe I’d stopped waiting for Braden to regret anything. Instead, I was simply deciding to become the woman I wanted to be, with or without him. And that if he saw that new me, maybe she would be the person he was meant to be with. Maybe that person was meant to be withhim.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BRADEN
The fluorescent lightsof the Marathon community center hummed, a flat sound that vibrated the very air. I sat wedged between my mother and Harper, the fabric of my polo shirt sticking to my back in the humid, crowded room. On stage, a local county commissioner droned on about civic duty and the quiet heroism of first responders. I latched onto his boring words like a lifeline, using them to drown out the noise in my own head.
The whole place smelled of stale coffee, cheap air freshener, and the collective perfume of proud mothers. It was the scent of a milestone, of achievement. But not for me. I glanced down the row. Mom was beaming, her eyes fixed on the stage, a wadded tissue clutched in her hand. Harper had an arm around Chase’s shoulders, her smile so wide and genuine it looked like it might crack her face. And next to them, Eli kept nudging Jules, whispering something that made her press her lips together to keep from laughing.
They were all present, fully in the moment. I forced my shoulders to relax, arranging my face into the mask of the proud brother. I wouldn't let my own wreckage cast a shadow on this. Not today.
I was here for Ben. That was the mission.
“And now,” the commissioner said, “the presentation of certificates.”
An excited ripple of applause went through the room as the commissioner was replaced by the dean of Ben’s college. My mother straightened her back, her focus intensifying. They read the names in alphabetical order. With each one, a new graduate walked across the stage, shook a few hands, and accepted a rolled-up piece of paper representing months to years of grueling work, sleepless nights, and unwavering commitment. I clapped for each of them, the motion mechanical.
Then, “Benjamin Coleridge” rang through the space.
The world sharpened as my brother stood up from the front row. He wasn’t the Ben I grew up with—the one with a chip on his shoulder and fists always ready for a fight. The wild card. The lost cause. The man walking toward the stage was different. He moved with quiet confidence, his shoulders back, his stride steady. He wore a dark-gray suit—an honest-to-God suit with a blue tie.
