The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the seaside park, its golden rays dancing on the waves. Prairie sat on a weathered bench, a notebook balanced on her lap. Her pen hovered over the page, where half-formed thoughts and fragmented lines tangled together, much like the emotions she tried to bury for the last nine years.

She gazed out at the ocean, letting its rhythm calm her, as she scribbled a line that she’d been toying with: The things we leave behind never stop calling to us.

A soft breeze swept past, carrying with it the sounds of children laughing in the distance. It was just another day, another moment, until a voice—familiar, deep, with a warmth that tugged at a place in her chest she hadn’t visited in years—cut through the hum of the crowd.

She froze, her pen stilled in mid-air. Slowly, she turned toward the sound, her heart picking up speed in her chest. And there, not far off, was Aldrin. Time had softened him, but there was no mistaking the man she had once loved. He was kneeling in the grass, chasing after a little girl with curls bouncing around her face, the same laughter that had stopped her heart spilling from his lips.

A sudden rush of memories overwhelmed her, and before she could pull herself together, Aldrin looked up. Their eyes met across the distance, and in that single glance, the weight of...