Page 224 of At First Catch

Apparently the Wright family has fully absorbed me into their emotional surveillance system despite the breakup.

Walter notices. “There he is.”

I glance over wearily. “What?”

“The guy who actually belongs here.”

Emotion crashes painfully through my chest.

I do belong here now. I finally built a life worth staying for. And then fear convinced me I had to control every outcome to keep it. The tragedy of it settles through me.

I stare out across Back Bay while the wind moves through the docks.

“I can’t let this be the end.”

Walter studies me carefully beside the railing. “No,” he says. “You probably can’t.”

And for the first time since Hadley asked for space, hope flickers painfully alive inside my chest again.

By Sunday night, I finally stop lying to myself. Not about loving Hadley. I’ve known that for months. Not even about losing her. The second she let go of my hand in that cottage kitchen, part of me already understood exactly how badly I’d screwed this up.

No.

The thing I finally stop lying to myself about is that I’ve been treating fear like responsibility for most of my life.

I stand alone at the end of the western dock staring out across dark water and marina lights. Wind rolls steadily over Back Bay, carrying salt air and distant music from downtown while boats rock gently against repaired slips below.

Everything looks peaceful tonight. Meanwhile, my entire chest feels hollowed out from grief. I grip the railing harder, watching reflections shimmer across the water.

For two straight days, I’ve replayed every major moment between Hadley and me. Not just the breakup. Everything.

The first night she looked at me like she saw past the grumpy marina owner act. The way she reached for me instinctively anytime I got quiet. The countless times she tried to explain that a relationship meant letting someone witness the ugly parts, too.

She was patient with me far longer than I deserved.

I spent weeks believing I was protecting her, protecting the marina, and protecting the future. Meanwhile, I was turning love into something heavy rather than safe.

A text notification lights up my phone again.

Investor group.

Third message today.

I stare at it without opening the thread.

Two weeks ago, the notifications spiked my pulse with panic and urgency.

Now?

Exhaustion.

Between losing Hadley and sitting alone with myself these past forty-eight hours, I finally understood something devastating. The deal was never going to fix what’s actually broken inside me.

No amount of money could teach me how to trust permanence. How to stop waiting for loss. How to let people stand beside me without turning love into obligation.

I open the message anyway.

Richard