I told my fiancé Tyler was only coming to congratulate us, but one private kiss outside our engagement party exposed the messages I thought I'd hidden.

The heat of August hung heavy over the city when the unavoidable finally happened.

Claire's brother—Marcus's beloved Uncle David—passed away suddenly from a massive stroke. David had been a second father to Marcus, and during the three years Marcus and I were together, David had treated me like his own niece, hosting us at his lake house every Fourth of July.

I knew I had no right to be there. I knew my presence would be a lightning rod. But I also knew that if I didn't pay my respects to David, I would be compounding my cowardice with callousness.

I wore a simple, high-necked black dress, pulled my hair into a tight bun, and arrived at the church after the service had already begun, slipping quietly into the very last pew near the heavy oak entrance doors.

From the back, I could see Marcus sitting in the front row, his broad shoulders flanked by his mother and his sister. He wore the same dark suit he had worn on the night of our engagement party. Beside him, Arthur was weeping quietly, his shoulders trembling.

When the service concluded, people began filing out into the sunlit churchyard. I stayed in the shadows of the vestibule, waiting for the crowd to thin so I could leave a card for Claire with the funeral director and vanish.

"Jessica."

I froze.

I turned around. Claire stood on the stone steps just behind me, a lace handkerchief pressed against her nose. She looked older, the lines around her eyes carved deeper by grief.

"Claire," I gasped, my voice catching. "I... I'm so sorry. I didn't want to intrude. I just wanted to leave this for you." I offered the white envelope with trembling hands.

Claire looked at the envelope, then raised her eyes to my face. The cold fury she had held on the night of the engagement party was gone, swept away by the immense gravity of the grief she was carrying today.

"David loved you, you know," she said quietly. "He told Marcus once that you were like a wild horse—beautiful, but likely to kick down the barn if you weren't careful."

A tear slipped down my cheek. "He was right."

"Marcus is out by the memorial fountain," Claire said softly, taking the envelope from my hands. "You should say goodbye to him properly. Not in a park. Not with lawyers."

Before I could reply, she turned and walked away toward the limousines.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. I walked down the stone corridor leading to the churchyard garden. The sunlight was blinding after the darkness of the nave.

Marcus was standing beside a bronze fountain, his tie loosened, a paper cup of water in his hand. He looked up as the gravel crunched under my heels.

He didn't flinch. He didn't look away.

"Claire told me you were here," he said. His voice was lower, richer than I remembered, stripped of the defensive hardness it had carried in the park.

"I didn't mean to ambush you, Marcus," I said, keeping a respectful distance of ten feet. "I loved David. I just wanted to pay my respects."

"He would have appreciated it," Marcus nodded slowly. He looked at me, taking in my plain dress, the absence of jewelry, the quietness that had replaced the frantic energy I used to carry like a weapon. "You look different, Jess."

"I am different," I said honestly. "Or at least, I'm trying to be."

We stood in silence for a long time, the splash of the water in the bronze basin the only sound between us.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Marcus asked suddenly.

The question caught me completely off guard. "No. God, no. I haven't been on a date since... since October. I don't think I have any business being in anyone's life right now."

Marcus smiled faintly—a ghost of the warm, crooked smile that used to make my knees weak. "Tyler?"

"I threatened to call his HR department six months ago," I said with a rueful, dry chuckle. "He hasn't called back."

Marcus looked down at his shoes, kicking a stray pebble into the grass. "Good. He was an idiot."

"I was the idiot, Marcus."

He looked back up at me, his gaze lingering on my face for several seconds. "We were both young, Jess. You were careless, and I... I was too proud to see how scared you were. It doesn't excuse what you did. But grief has a way of putting things in perspective."

"Marcus, we need to head to the cemetery," Arthur called out from the path fifty yards away.

Marcus turned his head, waved to his father, and then looked back at me. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small business card.

"My new office number," he said, handing it to me. His fingers brushed against mine—a fleeting, warm touch that sent an electric shock straight through my chest. "If you ever want to get coffee. No expectations. Just coffee."

I took the card, staring at the embossed letters: *Marcus Vance, Senior Partner, Vance & Holloway Logistics.*

"I would like that," I whispered.