Page 21 of His Vow

A life that didn't include me.

She looked up. Our eyes met across the street. Two lanes of traffic, a painted median, and two years of silence between us. Recognition hit her face — I saw it land and saw her body go rigid for half a second. She knew me instantly.

She adjusted the grocery bag, shifting it higher in her arms before looking away.

She kept walking.

My right foot moved forward. The instinct was so deep it bypassed thought — cross the street, call her name, and close the distance. I could reach her in ten seconds. Eight if I ran. My hand was already rising, my mouth already forming the first syllable of her name.

"Nolan?"

A hand on my shoulder. I turned.

Soleil. Right there on the sidewalk, a foot from me, her curls loose around her face. A canvas tote over her shoulder, a smear of alizarin crimson on her index finger. She smiled wide and bright, her whole face open. She was happy to see me. She had no idea what she'd just walked into.

"I was on my way to the supply store," she said, squeezing my arm. "What are the chances?"

I looked past her down the street. Adira was at the corner, her olive coat slipping between two pedestrians. She didn't turn, just rounded the building and vanished.

Gone.

"Hey." Soleil's hand was still on my arm. Her smile had faded. Her head tilted, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She didn't believe me. It was there in her furrowed brows, in the tightening of her fingers on my sleeve. She looked in the direction I'd been staring. The corner was empty now. A taxi rolled through the intersection. A man walked a dog past the spot where my sister had been standing five seconds ago.

"Come on." Soleil took my hand and pulled. "There's a café on the next block. You look like you need to sit down."

I didn't want to sit down. I wanted to cross the street and chase a sibling who didn't want to be chased. But Soleil's hand was warm around mine, and she was already walking. My feet followed.

The café was small, bright, with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu. Soleil ushered me to a table beside the window, the very one facing the direction where Adira had disappeared. She noticed me looking. She didn't comment. She went to the counter and came back with two cups. Black for me. She'd remembered.

She settled across from me, her gaze steady but not prying. No questions about what had happened, no gentle prods to spill it all. Instead, she cradled her steaming cup in both hands and began to speak.

"So this artist submitted her portfolio yesterday. Ceramics, but not the pretty kind. They look like buildings mid-collapse. Like someone froze the exact moment a structure fails." She took a sip. "Margaux thinks they're depressing. I think they're honest."

My eyes still fixed on the window, tracing the exact spot where Adira’s coat had fluttered one last time.

"The glazing technique is stunning," Soleil went on. "She builds up layers just like Rafael applies his pigments — the first color shows through the final surface. One standout is a slender pot with a crack along its side, repaired using gold. Reminds me of kintsugi. Ever heard of it?"

"Japanese repair method," I said. My voice sounded far away. "Gold in the broken places."

"Right." She smiled. "So the crack becomes the most beautiful part." She was leaning forward, her elbows on the table, her eyes bright. "I'm thinking of offering her a show. Maybe spring. What do you think?"

"Sounds good."

She tilted her head. The smile dimmed. She reached across the table and put her hand on mine. Her fingers were warm from the coffee cup. Her thumb pressed against my knuckle.

I glanced at her palm, then her face. In that instant, the two women overlapped — the one who'd strode off on a Brooklyn avenue and the one across the café table, who'd scanned my features and wouldn't abandon me to my inner shadows. The sister who sent back my money every month, and the woman who tracked me down at my office because I didn't call for three days.

I pulled my hand back.

Soleil's fingers curled on the empty table. Her lips pressed together. She didn't flinch, but something in her eyes clicked — a question forming, the beginning of hurt.

I stood up. "I have to go."

Her mouth opened. I was already reaching for my jacket on the back of the chair.