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PART1
CHAPTERONE
BLAKE
It’s always the husband.
That’s what they say anyway, isn’t it? I’ve probably said it once or twice myself while watching the news or reading a book. It’s clichéd, but the reality is it’s almost always true.
Almostalways.
But not now.
Not this time.
You’ve already cast your judgment. I won’t waste my time trying to change your mind, but, for the record, you couldn’t be more wrong about me.
I didn’t do this.
I love her.
You can trust me.
CHAPTERTWO
MAE
BEFORE
This place should feel like paradise, but for me, it will always be a reminder of heartbreak.
Even with years of better memories to replace that first visit—sun-soaked summers with my favorite people—I can’t let go of the past. Can’t forget what happened. What this beach bore witness to.
I died here, in a way. There’s the me before and the me after, and the two will never be the same.
Today, the sun warms my skin, and the salty breeze whips through my hair as sand collects in my sandals. It’s beautiful here. I can say that objectively. I get the appeal. Truly I do, but I can’t look at the sand or the ocean, hear the seagulls cawing overhead, or smell the fishy smell of the water without thinking of him.
Blake’s fingers lace with mine as the restaurant comes into view. “Is she here yet?”
I lift my phone with my opposite hand, staring at the screen. One of our wedding photos stares back at me, taking my breath away as much now as they did the day we received them. We look so happy…
It’s been almost a year, and somehow I’m still not quite used to the weight of the ring on my finger.
“I don’t think so. She hasn’t texted. I’ll let her know where they seat us when they do.”
“Sounds good. Hopefully they have space on the patio. It’s so nice out.” He releases my hand to let me up the wooden set of stairs to the boardwalk first.
As if to further prove his point, the wind picks up again, blowing the warm air around us. It’s the perfect temperature, before the heat of the summer completely arrives, but still warm enough to enjoy.
Inside the small restaurant, a dark-haired host greets us.
I glance at the nametag on their shirt, which readsHayden (They/them).
“Hey guys, how many?”
“Four,” Blake says, holding up four fingers. “We’re waiting on two others.”
“Cool. Inside or patio?”
