The day they buried my mother fell on Memorial Day.
I spotted Curtis at the cemetery. He'd been out of contact for days.
He was hiding behind a headstone in the distance, eyes locked on the back of a woman standing ahead of him.
In six years together, Curtis had vanished every Memorial Day without fail. I'd assumed he was visiting a relative's grave. Once, I offered to go with him.
He'd erupted.
"Willow Sullivan, I'm with you three hundred and sixty-four days a year. Can't I have one day to myself?"
That fight had spiraled into a three-month cold war. It ended when I lost our first baby.
And this time, I'd lost my mother.
Three hundred and sixty-four days of tenderness couldn't make up for a single day built on lies.
If he couldn't let go of the past, then I could walk forward alone. It wouldn't be the first time.
——
I was leaving the cemetery when the woman came out of nowhere on a rental bike and slammed straight into me.
I'd been reaching for my car door. The impact knocked me to the ground. White-hot pain shot through my ankle. It took three tries before I managed to stand.
Curtis came running from the distance.
"Are you okay?"
He was gripping the woman's shoulders, scanning her up and down.
Curtis Fox was famous in his circle for being unshakable. In negotiations that could make or break his company, the man didn't break a sweat.
I had never seen him this frantic.
Once he confirmed she was unhurt, he wheeled on me.
"What the hell kind of parking job is that."
My car was stationary. The engine wasn't even on.
His eyes met mine, and something flickered across his face. A flash of guilt, gone as quickly as it appeared.
The woman shrank to one side, voice small.
"I'm sorry, it was my fault. I wasn't paying attention on the bike..."
Curtis's tone melted instantly.
"It's not your fault. She parked in a bad spot. Where did you get hurt?"
The woman hesitated, then held out her right hand. A small patch of skin had been scraped off her palm.
Curtis's brow furrowed. He cupped her hand and blew gently on the wound.
Her eyes reddened. She tried to pull away.
"It's really nothing..."
A warm spring breeze drifted through the cemetery, but I felt cold down to my bones.
"Don't blame yourself. The scratch on the car is nothing—insurance will cover it. No need to apologize."
He finally spared me a glance.
"Willow, if you hadn't followed me here and parked wherever you pleased, none of this would've happened."
If he'd paid even the slightest attention, he would have seen my swollen, tear-ravaged eyes. He would have noticed the black mourning pin still fastened to my suit.
But he saw nothing.
The woman's gaze drifted between us.
"Do you two... know each other?"
Curtis said nothing.
So that was it. Six years of sharing a life, and he couldn't even give me a straight answer.
The woman turned to leave.
Curtis lunged forward and caught her wrist.
"Where are you going?"
"Let go of me. You already have someone new—why are you still holding on?"
He ignored her struggling, pulled her into his arms, and guided her firmly into my car.
"You're hurt. Stop being so stubborn."
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
His voice left no room for argument.
As he climbed into the driver's seat, he tossed me one last look. Light. Careless. Like I was an afterthought.
"I'm borrowing the car. Call yourself a ride."
The car pulled away and vanished down the road.
I clutched my throbbing ankle and sank onto the curb.
That woman—it wasn't the first time I'd seen her.
Curtis kept a locked drawer at home. I was never allowed to touch it.
I'd teased him once. "What are you hiding in there? Love letters from an ex?"
He'd gone quiet for a moment, then ruffled my hair.
"Something like that. Don't look. Leave me a little dignity."
He'd said it so casually, so openly, that I never thought to check again.
