The salt-kissed air tasted like memory as Clara stepped off the ferry, her boots crunching on gravel. The dock creaked beneath her, a sound she hadn’t heard in a decade, and the sun hung low over the water, bleeding gold into the horizon. She’d returned to Hollow’s End for one reason: to say goodbye. The letter had arrived three days prior, ink smudged by rain, its words brittle as dead leaves. *I’m sorry* was all it said. No explanation. No plea. Just a name—*Elias*—and a date. Today.
The town had not changed. The same creaking gulls circled the harbor, the same rusted fishing boats bobbed in the shallows, and the same scent of brine and diesel clung to the air. Clara’s fingers tightened around her suitcase handle. She’d dreamed of this place in fragments—Elias’s laughter echoing across the dunes, the way he’d kissed her forehead before she left—but now it felt like a stranger’s home.
She found him at the lighthouse, as she’d known she would. He stood at the base of the tower, his back to her, wearing the same faded blue shirt he’d worn the day she left. The wind tugged at his sleeves, and for a moment, she thought he might turn. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached up, fingers brushing the rusted railing, and something in Clara’s chest cracked open.
“You came,” he said, his voice low, like a secret.
“I had to,” she replied. The words felt heavy, as if they’d been trapped in her throat for years. She stepped closer, the gravel sharp beneath her feet. “Why didn’t you fight for me?”
Elias exhaled, a sound that might have been a laugh. “I did. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You left me in the dark,” she said, her voice rising. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
He turned then, his face lined with years she hadn’t seen. His eyes—those same storm-gray eyes—searched hers, and for a heartbeat, she was seventeen again, standing in the rain, tears mixing with the downpour. “I thought you’d forget me,” he admitted. “Like everyone else.”
Clara’s breath caught. She’d never told him that was the fear that had kept her silent all those years. That she’d been too afraid to write, too afraid his silence would mean he’d moved on. The wind howled, and she stepped closer, her boots sinking into the damp earth. “I never stopped waiting,” she whispered.
Elias reached for her, his hand trembling as it brushed her cheek. His touch was familiar, a heat that had never truly left her skin. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time, the words felt like a promise.
They didn’t speak for a long time. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet. Clara let the silence settle between them, not as a wall but as a bridge. When Elias finally pulled her into his arms, she didn’t resist. His heartbeat was steady, a rhythm she’d missed more than she’d realized.
“What now?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the waves.
He tilted her face up, his thumb tracing her jawline. “We start over,” he said. “But this time, we don’t run.”
The lighthouse beam swept across the water, a single, steady glow against the gathering dark. Clara leaned into him, the weight of the past dissolving into the salt air. For the first time in years, she felt something shift—like the tide retreating, leaving behind a shore where new possibilities could take root.
And as the stars began to pierce the sky, she knew this was only the beginning.
