The sun rose slowly the next morning, golden light spilling through gauzy curtains in the Harper home. But warmth didn't reach Ava's chest.
She had barely slept.
The letter Luca left sat on the nightstand beside her. Folded neatly. Tauntingly.
Beside her, Jamie stirred as Maeve cooed from the bassinet, stretching her tiny arms toward the day. Ava rose, kissed her daughter's soft hair, and held her close as if anchoring herself to the present.
Because her mind was trapped in the past.
Downstairs, the scent of coffee greeted her, along with the gentle sound of Thomas narrating his breakfast cereal adventure to his stuffed bunny. Jamie, dressed in joggers and a hoodie, handed her a warm mug.
He didn't speak at first. He just wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Still thinking about him?"
Ava nodded slowly. "I don't know why it's hitting me so hard. It's been so long. I thought that part of my life was over."
Jamie turned her gently toward him. "Maybe it wasn't just about him, Ava. Maybe it's about who you were when he left."
That struck something deep.
She had been twenty-three. Hopeful. Naive. In love with a man who saw beauty in her sadness but offered no anchor of his own. Luca had been a poet of moments, never promises.
And when he left, she had broken.
It had taken years to trust again—to trust Jamie. To believe in solid ground and steady hands. To believe she was worthy of being loved in the light, not just in the shadows of someone's metaphors.
"I think I'm grieving a version of myself," Ava said finally. "The girl who thought she wasn't enough when he left. The girl who waited for a letter that never came."
Jamie cupped her face. "You became more than she ever dreamed of, Ava. Look at this life. Our family. You grew around that pain. You became... whole."
Ava's eyes welled up. "And now that he's gone, I feel like I've lost a thread I didn't know I was still holding."
Jamie leaned his forehead against hers. "Let go of the thread. You have roots now."
You have roots now.
Those words settled deep.
Later that day, June came by with Clara, who toddled straight toward Maeve's bassinet with gleeful curiosity. June looked tired—new motherhood was a storm and a sunrise—but her smile bloomed the moment she saw Ava.
"You look like you've been through something," June said, handing her a blueberry muffin.
Ava exhaled. "I have."
She told her everything. About the letter. The call. The years of silence. The strange final note Luca had left behind.
June listened without interruption, letting Ava spill the tangled knot she hadn't realized she was holding in her chest.
When she finally finished, June took her hand. "Closure is never as clean as we hope. Sometimes it opens a door we thought was nailed shut."
"I feel… guilt," Ava admitted. "And anger. And pity. And then none of those things at once."
"That's grief," June said softly. "It's not always about missing someone. Sometimes it's about mourning who you thought they were."
Ava nodded. "Do you think it's wrong if I want to know more about what happened to him?"
"No," June said. "But tread carefully. Curiosity is fine. But don't let it unravel everything you've built."
That evening, after dinner and bath time and bedtime stories, Ava sat at the kitchen table again. This time, with Jamie beside her.
They had retrieved the cedar box again. Jamie gently opened it, revealing the bundle of Luca old letters.
Ava hesitated, then picked one up. Her fingers ran across the worn paper. Jamie read over her shoulder.
"There are cities that remember us long after we've forgotten them. Places we walked, cracked pavement and all, still carry our laughter like ghost stories."
Jamie exhaled. "He had a way with words."
Ava smiled faintly. "He did. But words weren't enough."
She handed the letter to Jamie, then reached for her laptop. After a moment of deliberation, she typed in the detective's name: Fiona Calloway.
Then opened her inbox.
To: Detective Calloway
Subject: Luca Farrow -Contact and Background
Dear Detective,
Thank you for your call yesterday. I've had time to process the news, and I would like to help however I can. While it's been several years since I was in contact with Mr. Farrow ,I may be able to provide some background and context.
I also have a letter he left me some time ago—one that suggested he may have felt threatened or involved in something dangerous. I can forward a copy if needed.
Please let me know how I can assist.
Sincerely,
Ava Harper
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
Jamie reached for her hand. "Whatever comes of this, we face it together."
She nodded, squeezing his hand. "I just want to know why he ran. Why he never came back."
And in that quiet moment, as the night deepened and the wind rustled the oak leaves outside, Ava Harper felt the weight of her past shift—no longer pressing down but standing behind her. Watching.
Waiting.
The past never stays buried forever.
And some ghosts still have stories left to tell.