As she stepped out onto the porch that afternoon, Claire spotted an envelope tucked under the mat.
No stamp. No return address.
Just her name, written in Derek’s handwriting—sharp, slanted, and carrying the same subtle haughtiness she’d once learned to decipher between the lines of his texts and promises. A chill crept along her spine. Whatever was inside, it wasn’t just a note. It felt like a warning, a thread she thought she'd severed, tightening again with a single stroke of ink.
Her fingers froze mid-reach. "What now?" she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing at the envelope.
She wasn’t going back—but the past might not be done with her yet.
Chapter Nineteen
Jack
Jackstoodattheliving room window, watching the pink threads of sunset fade behind the dunes. The faint sound of Claire's laugh—carried from her porch next door—reached him through the open window. It should've been a comforting sound. But tonight, it prickled under his skin, stirring a low ache in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or fear, but something about the ease in her voice—so separate from him—made it feel like she was already slipping just out of reach.
Earlier that afternoon, Claire had stopped by briefly, returning the casserole dish he'd brought over days before. Her knock had been soft, almost hesitant, and though her smile was polite, there was a worry in her eyes Jack couldn't quite ignore. She’d smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached her eyes.
Jack had hesitated at the door, wanting to ask if she was okay—if Derek had said anything else—but the words had stuck. Chloe had been nearby, humming in the kitchen, and it hadn’t felt like the right time.
“Everything alright?” Claire had asked softly.
“Yeah. Just thinking,” he’d replied, which wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
Later, Jack shook the memory loose as Chloe padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. "Is Claire mad at you?" she asked.
Jack blinked, startled. "Why would you ask that?"
She shrugged, twisting the hem of her pajama shirt. "You were smiling all weekend. And now you're doing your serious face again."
He crouched down, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "Claire’s not mad, honey. Just... a lot going on."
Chloe tilted her head. "Like the man who came to her house?"
Jack froze, his spine stiffening. "What did you see?" A spike of protectiveness surged in his chest, followed quickly by regret. He hadn’t asked Claire what happened with Derek, thinking he was giving her space—but now, hearing Chloe’s words, he wondered if he should’ve done more.
"He was mean-looking. Claire crossed her arms like she does when she’s mad. Gabe didn’t look happy either."
Jack exhaled slowly. Claire hadn’t gone into detail, and he hadn’t asked. But Chloe had picked up more than he’d realized.
"Sometimes grown-ups have complicated things to talk about," Jack said. "It doesn’t always mean something bad."
"Do complicated things make people stop liking each other?" Chloe's voice was quiet now.
Jack hesitated, searching her face. "No. Not if they’re important to each other," he said slowly.
Chloe looked thoughtful. "So even if something hard happens, people can still be okay?"
He nodded. "Exactly. It just means they have to work through it—together. Complicated things just take a little more time to figure out."
She nodded, seeming satisfied for the moment. "Okay. Can you read the dragon story again? The one where they build a treehouse?"
"Absolutely," he said, taking her hand and walking with her toward her room.
As they passed the hallway, Chloe added, “Claire helped Gabe make a dragon last week at school. He said it looked like a potato with wings.”
Jack laughed softly. “Sounds like a very special dragon.”
Later, after Chloe was asleep, Jack sat on the edge of his bed with the lights off, the hum of the ocean filtering through the cracked window.
