I’ve been thinking about Sage a lot since I heard her voice, adding her to my list of one days. I mentioned it to Foster, and I’ll never be able to thank him enough for bypassing me to make it happen so soon. Am I in emotional overload? Absolutely. Would I want anything different? Absolutely not.

They ask me about the documentary, the tour, and Foster. I tell them about it all—especially him.

Then I learn everything I missed with them for the past five years. Sage finished school and works as a labor and delivery nurse, taking extra classes for another certification. Miles has remained with the company that created Wanderer as a developer, but he’s remote now, and they live outside of Hunts in an adorable house on a hill.

By the end of the night, I’ve told them the practiced words: Daniel killed my mom. It’s a lot of crying, but so fucking cathartic. Even though I’m perfectly fine not talking about it again for a long time. They know about Roman too. The favorites and the threats.

I think what hurts my heart the most is when I open the door and Sage stops before walking out of it. “I wanted to find you when I finally opened my eyes, but I thought you probably hated me for not seeing it in the first place. But I need you to know I’ve missed you every day. You never said goodbye, and a piece of me has always held out hope that meant it wasn’t one. It’s why I called Foster every year in case he felt the same way.”

“Fuck,” I say. “You are terrible for mascara.”

“That’s why we’re not married, you know?” Miles steps between Sage and the open door, his head cocked at me. “You weren’t here, and we both wanted you to be a part of it.” He tosses me his phone, camera already recording, and he winks. “And now you are.”

I smile, aiming it at them before Sage catches up. Then her eyes bulge when Miles drops to a knee, right there on the threshold. I ease the shot out, sure to have the right angle as he reveals a box from his coat’s inside pocket.

That’s all the farther he gets before she tackles him. He looks prepared, though, keeping his balance, and she ends up sitting on his bent leg, opening the box herself and squealing at me like I’m the one proposing.

But he swipes the ring. “At least let me do some of it.”

I text myself the video, and after they leave, I curl up on the couch. Relieved. Drained. Happy. Although, I could be happier. I message Foster a picture of the three of us together.