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And I had been.

Or at least…I said I was.

Until they showed me a photo of Wayne’s corpse.

It should’ve felt like closure. Instead I felt…nothing. He was lying on his front in a pool of blood, his body positioned in a way that made him look smaller than I remembered. I stared at it longer than I meant to. There was no satisfaction in it, only a strange, hollow quiet. Bittersweet didn’t feel like the right word, but it was the closest thing my mind could find. Because he deserved prison, not an ending that erased the possibility of him ever speaking, ever confessing, or ever being forced to look at what he had done in a way that matched the scale of it.

And when I’d looked up from the photo, the first thing I’d seen was Peter standing slightly behind the investigators, expression unreadable in a way I’d never seen before. Jackson had been beside me the entire time, hand still threaded through mine like he refused to let go, even while everything else in the room shifted around us. The investigators eventually left with quiet thank-yous and careful nods, like they were leaving a space that still felt fragile.

Then, it was just us again.

Peter was snoring softly on the pull-out bed, one sock-covered foot dangling out from beneath the thin hospital blanket. He’d insisted on staying overnight after Nicola reassured him that it was fine, especially after she’d stopped by earlier with my nephew. I had a nephew. Hearing about the birth of Robbie, his engagement, and his wedding to Nicola was as painful as it was rewarding. I’d lost so much time, but seeing Peter again had started to mend something I didn’t realise was still completely broken inside me.

Being taken from him had been one of the cruelest parts of everything. Not just the loss itself, but the timing of it. We’d already been drowning in grief for Dad, and instead of holding onto each other through it, we were torn apart. I’d missed him so much that some days I’d just cry, replaying our final moments together, wishing I could go back in time and listen to him instead of leaving him behind.

“You don’t get to hide from me.” He grabbed my legs suddenly, dragging me across the floor, the friction burning against my skin as I cried out weakly. “After everything I’ve done!” he continued. “After everything I’ve given you!” My chest jerked as the present crashed back in all at once. I blinked hard, and my breathing came in uneven, but slower now.

He’s not here, Evie. He’s gone.

That kept happening. I kept…hearing Wayne’s voice and seeing his face in the corner of the room. I was too scared to speak up about it, terrified that it meant something was wrong with me. But I knew I had a long road ahead of me—I wasn’t naïve about that. Not about the therapy, or…the nightmares, or the way the memories would keep resurfacing when I least expected them to. But at that moment, I was just so thankful to have made it out alive. Never again would I have to wake up in that bed, cook his meals, or clean up the aftermath of things I was forced to witness.

Never again would I be part of it.

That thought didn’t come with relief all at once though, but I was sure it would one day. My body was still learning it was allowed to believe it.

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a constant rhythm I could feel more than hear, my cheek pressed into his chest as he somehow managed to take up most of the hospital bed without even trying. A late-night rerun played quietly on the television in the corner of the ceiling, the sound turned down so low, it was just flickers of movement and colour washing over the room. Every now and then, the light caught Jackson’s face as he slept, tracing the shape of his features in soft, shifting shadows.

He was so beautiful like this.

It was no wonder I had failed to release him from my heart—not that I ever really tried. It always belonged to him; all he had to do was brush the dust off, and it was his again. He was still everything to me. Still the same person I wished on the stars for. Still the same Jackson Easton I’d loved my whole life.

“I want to marry you some day,” I confessed to the room, my voice barely more than a whisper, the words slipping out before I could think to stop them. “And I want us to live somewhere far, far away from here,” I added, my cheek pressed to his chest, willing the confession to somehow reach his heart. “Somewhere we can be free.” I swallowed, heat rushing to my face, even though there was no one else awake to hear it.

“I don’t even care where,” I admitted quietly. “It could be on the moon, or the middle of the ocean—I just…I want you there.” My throat started to ache from saying too much. I looked up when I felt his heartbeat pick up, my stomach dropping as his eyes fluttered open, a crease forming between his brows.

“Marry me?” he whispered, his voice roughened by sleep.

My breath caught.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I confessed softly, heat rising to my face all over again. A slow, sleepy smile spread across his mouth anyway, like he didn’t still have deep purple bruises beneath his eyes, or that he wasn’t still battling against the infection from the wounds on his back. His arm shifted under me, tightening carefully as he adjusted his grip, pulling me slightly higher against him so we were face to face.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said quietly.

His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek as if he was making sure I was still there.

My heart stuttered.

“What question?” I tried, even though I already knew. He let out a soft exhale, amused and warm at the edges, forehead drifting down until it rested against mine. His eyes didn’t leave mine, even as they half-lidded again with sleep.

“The important one,” he murmured.

“Jackson,” I whispered, barely managing the words.