As Quinn fell apart, Taylor wrapped her arms around her and wept. They rocked back and forth on the bench, their wailing louder than the cicadas that had taken up outside. Clem stood behind them and held them both, rested their heads against her chest.

Beside Irene, Maura’s entire body shook as she cried. Irene had never seen her mother so broken. Irene uncurled clenched fists to find nail marks in her palms and took a steadying breath before she reached for Maura’s hand.

“Sylvia stole him from us,” Maura said, her voice small as she looked up at Irene. “My son.”

Irene pressed her lips to the top of her mother’s head as Maura collapsed into her arms. She held her like that for a few moments before she looked up, and her eyes met Kaden’s. Despite the shared heartache—or maybe because of it—he had ambrosia in his irises. That reciprocated love ran far deeper than only a week could account for.

A sob tore through Irene’s throat.

She loved him then. She still loved him now, and Sylvia had taken that from them. Two decades, gone. A life they could’ve lived together. A family they never got to have.

Maura pulled back from Irene’s hold and glanced between them. Then, she gave Irene a little push toward him.

“Irene.” His eyes glistened, and the longing in his voice opened wide a crack in her heart.

“Kaden,” she whispered.

For the first time since he’d returned to town, she saw him—really saw him. Though the furrow between his brows was now permanent and gray sprinkled his beard, he was still the young man she’d fallen for all those years ago. The young man Sylvia had ripped from her mind.

She brought her hand to his face, trailed her fingertips along his cheekbone, over his widow’s peak, through his hair. Finally, her hand came to rest against his chest.

He leaned his forehead against hers.

“I’ve always loved you,” he said, the words choked.

She threaded her fingers through his and let the tears fall, when the reality of what she’d seen hit her. She pulled back from him and saw the truth sink in for him at the same time.

“Addison,” they whispered. The one beautiful thing to come out of all that pain.

Irene held a hand over her mouth and let out a small laugh. Teardrops landed on her knuckles. Kaden brushed a curl behind her ear. Butterfly weed blossomed. Hope from sorrow.

“I should’ve been here,” he said.

“You didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I hadn’t run from my family, if I’d looked back, even once, I know I would’ve found you. We might not have had the memories, but we could’ve had each other. You wouldn’t have been alone.”