"He won’t hurt you ever again." I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I promise."

I pull back, my eyes tracing every line of her face. She's too good for me, and it's not just her beauty—it's everything else. The way she always adds two sugars to her coffee, even though she hates the bitterness, because tea feels like giving up.

She smells like lavender, not because she loves it, but because she'd read somewhere that it made people feel happy and calm.

She has this quiet need to brighten the world, always saying hello to anyone who smiles at her first, like she can't let kindness go unanswered.

She laughs too hard at stupid movies and cries at ones she's seen a hundred times.

And she spent hours making those beaded bracelets for strangers, just to make their day a little brighter. I never understood how someone so effortlessly extraordinary could look in the mirror and not see what everyone else did.

That's been the theme all along, hasn't it? From the moment she walked into my life, everything shifted. I knew it was too late to turn back.

She isn't just someone I love—she is it.

The endgame.

The one I've been searching for in this lifetime, and probably every one before and after.

She became a part of me in ways I'll never fully understand, but I don't need to.

Some things aren't meant to be questioned.

Some things just are.

And she's always been my answer to most things.

60. I Know What You Did Last Summer

CHAPTER 60

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

NORA

The soft hum of the desk lamp mingles with the rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, creating a soothing symphony in my cozy corner. I inhale the familiar scent of paper and coffee, letting my eyes drift over the organized chaos Nate created for me—scattered notebooks, loose papers, and an empty mug that's more decorative than functional now. The space feels lived-in, like it was always meant to be an extension of my soul.

Leaning back, I rub my tired eyes and glance at the notebook beside me. Its pages overflow with scribbled notes about Alfie and Gracie. There's something magical about this room, as if the walls themselves coax the story from my fingertips.

I'm halfway through the final edits, and for the first time since Dad died, pride replaces the constant whisper of self-doubt.

The door's gentle creak breaks my reverie. Mom stands in the doorway, arms crossed, and head tilted in that knowing way only mothers can perfect. Her smile holds equal parts amusement and affection, warming the room.

"Hey, Mom," I say, quickly saving my work on the new laptop before spinning to face her.

She steps inside, her keen eyes taking in every detail of the space.

"Nate did a nice job here," she observes, nodding approvingly. "Looks like it's working for you."