I look in the mirror and wipe away the makeup that’s smeared under my eyes from crying. I can’t touch up with my makeup bag at home, but does it matter? There’s no way I’ll be able to stop my tears from engulfing me with the two words I dread hearing—he’s gone. I’m barely containing them now. Anyway, my makeup will probably be running again shortly.

I cut the engine and climb out of the cab, dropping from the high truck until my feet reach the ground. I don’t lock it. What’s the point? No one’s going to steal it from this property. For that matter, I might as well leave the keys on the seat just in case I need a quick getaway. Not that I’m planning an escape, but something’s gone terribly wrong, and I have a feeling I wasn’t summoned out here to discuss my summer plans.

Wow, another thing that seems to be gone in an instant. Why were we making plans if he had no intention of following through? I’m so lost on what’s happening and am ready to wake from this nightmare.

The door opens as soon as I take the first step to their front door. Marina’s standing there with tears in her eyes as if she was the one who was left.

We’ve spent a little time together when Harbor and I would come over for dinner and celebrate over the holidays. But I wish we would have had more time to get to know each other. She’s very poised for her age, intelligent, and is a great kid. By the time I reach the landing, she throws her arms around me and starts crying.

These aren’t the tears from learning of a death or an accident. Those are black, with hope burned in the ashes. I can feel that flicker inside me, that little ember trying to persist and come to life. Harbor does that to me. He makes me feel nothing and everything all at once, fragmented, but hope still exists between us, our love burning through the tears of the brokenhearted.

I embrace his little sister like she’s my own, soothing her. I find comfort that I’m not alone, that I’m not the only one who’s been abandoned. But I realize his sister crying means I’ll be the one crying again in a minute. “It’s okay, Marina.”

“He—”

“Marina,” her dad says, his voice catching us off guard.

She takes a short breath, her eyes meeting mine so quickly that I don’t have time to see what she already knows inside them. The coloring just about brings me to my knees, the same color that usually makes me weak in them when Harbor looks at me. She whispers, “I’m sorry,” and then walks to her dad.

Like my dad did for me, hers holds her as she cries on his shoulder. Harbor’s mom comes out and sees them. “Honey? Come here, Marina.” She takes her hand and wraps her arms around her. Delta looks at me over her shoulder and says, “Oh Lark . . .”