Page 9 of Waiting for You

"Violet," I cut in.

"Yeah?"

"I know. It's fine. Breathe."

We traded quick goodbyes and hung up.

Sloane was the phantom limb in my clean arrangement with Eliza—the one I hadn't managed to amputate through sheer will. I'd diagnosed and cured vicious medical mysteries under impossible conditions. But this particular heartbreak was the one puzzle I'd been circling for so many years—which had done nothing to close the wound. She was the reason I knew what terrifying certainty felt like—and the reason I knew how hollow every relationship had been by comparison.

As soon as I finished my work for the day, I packed up my briefcase and went home.

In my echoing master bedroom, I dragged a leather duffel out from the back corner of the walk-in closet. The one small box I always packed sat on top of my folded clothes. It was wrapped in deep indigo velvet, the golden clasp worn smooth from years of turning it over in my hands.

I'd tried to get rid of it twice. Once, I drove it to a high-end estate jeweler meaning to sell it. But I ended up sitting outside the storefront for ten miserable minutes before driving home with the velvet burning a hole in my pocket. The second time, I tossed it into a charity donation bin and fished it back out before the truck came.

I'd replaced all my bedroom furniture from that era of my life. I'd repainted the walls. I'd cleared every shelf and restocked my life with beautiful objects that carried no memory of her.

But this tiny box… I couldn’t.

And I'd stopped trying to explain it to myself, because some ghosts don't obey the model.

I picked it up and popped the clasp, revealing an oval diamond framed by deep blue sapphires. I'd commissioned the band because it reminded me of her—elegant and simple from across a room, dizzyingly complicated up close.

I shut my eyes and Sloane was right in front of me again, standing in a flowing white dress in the middle of a moonlit field. I'd ringed us in flickering candles and scattered rose petals across the grass. I was on my knees, asking her to marry me. And she nodded, overwhelmed, with tears filling her eyes. She held out her shaking hands and I pushed the ring onto her finger. That moment, I was sure that we were going to last until the end of time.

But now, years later, I was alone in an empty mansion holding that same ring.

I'd loved that woman far past the limits of logic. And she'd mailed the ring back in a cold little box, with a note cruel enough to keep me from ever coming after her.

I let out a ragged breath and snapped the velvet case shut.

"Maybe," I said into the silence, tossing the box into the duffel, "it's time to make a new memory."

THREE

SLOANE

YEARS AGO…

A pest infestation forced the university to shut down the dorms for spring break, and the order left no room to argue. The administration blasted out an urgent email, and within days the residence halls turned into ghost towns.

I could go back to my parents' sprawling estate and spend a week watching my mother fade into the far wings of the house. While my father filled every room he entered with a suffocating silence built to make you feel like nothing.

Just the thought of it made my stomach pitch.

Violet sat on the edge of her mattress, watching me shove clothes into my bag.

"You could always crash with me," she said, tossing a pillow aside. "Fair warning, my parents aren't winning any awards. My mom especially. But the house is big enough, so you could dodge them easily."

I weighed my dismal options and let out a long sigh. "Okay."

The drive felt endless, but we talked the whole way. By the time Violet threw the car into park in her driveway, my nerves had settled more than they had in months. The property was a historic build with a wraparound porch and ancient trees crowding the windows. It wasn’t as large as the mansion I'd grown up in. But it felt warm and personal—a home someone had chosen to live in instead of a trophy they'd acquired.

Violet pushed the front door open and waved me in.

In the living room, a man took up a leather armchair near the window with a newspaper draped across his lap. His once-handsome features had long since hardened into a severe mask.

Violet crossed the floor toward him. "Hey, Dad."