Enzo Russo hadn’t been inside a café at night in three years.

Not the kind with amber pendant lights and mismatched chairs that looked like they’d been rescued from a dozen living rooms. Not the kind where strangers laughed too loudly over oat-milk lattes, where someone near the counter argued gently with a barista about whether cinnamon counted as “sweetener,” where life moved forward in warm, ordinary ways that made grief feel like an outsider pressed up against the glass.

Outside, Portland wore its October drizzle like a familiar jacket. Water beaded on the windows and slid down in slow, indecisive streaks. Headlights smeared into soft halos on the street. Enzo stood just inside the door, shoulders tight, palms damp, and tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

He told himself he was only here because Maria wouldn’t stop.

His sister had called three times this week, the last time using the voice she reserved for stubborn toddlers and men who thought sadness was an identity. Just coffee, Enzo. Thirty minutes. You can leave whenever you want. You owe yourself… you owe Leah…

He hated the word owe. It sounded like a debt he didn’t remember signing for. Still, he’d agreed, because Leah had been watching him lately with those sharp, quiet eyes that made him feel like his daughter could see straight through his ribs. She’d been too cheerful at dinner, too careful, and that kind of carefulness in a nine-year-old was its own red flag.

So here he was, scanning the room for a stranger named Freya, trying not to look like a man who’d forgotten how to live.

Then his gaze locked on the table by the window.

And his heart dropped so hard it felt like someone had yanked the floor out from under him.

Leah.

His Leah.

Sitting there with her legs swinging beneath the chair, grinning like she knew exactly what she’d done. In front of her sat a woman with kind eyes and dark hair, hands wrapped around a mug like she was anchoring herself. Confused, cautious, but not angry yet.

Enzo’s blind date.

With his daughter.

The sitter was supposed to be with Leah at home. Maria had sworn she’d arranged everything. Enzo’s brain tried to line up facts like puzzle pieces and kept finding gaps where reality should’ve been.

What the hell is my daughter doing here?

The café felt suddenly too bright, too loud, too full of people who hadn’t had their lives snapped in half at a rainy intersection. Enzo forced his legs to move anyway, one step and then another, because standing still would mean admitting he didn’t know what to do next.

Leah saw him coming and her grin widened, as if she’d been waiting for a curtain to rise.

The woman across from her followed Leah’s gaze. Her eyebrows lifted as Enzo approached, tall and tired-looking, the shadows under his eyes doing what his mouth refused to do: confessing.

“Dad!” Leah chirped, like they’d planned this together.

“Leah,” Enzo managed, but his voice came out strangled. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” she said, bouncing in her seat. “I wanted to make sure you actually came.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Wait,” she said slowly, “this is your dad?”

“Yeah!” Leah beamed. “Enzo, meet Freya. Freya, meet my dad.”

Enzo stared at his daughter, then at Freya, then back at Leah, like repeating the cycle would make it make sense. “You… you set this up.”

“Uh-huh.” Leah nodded proudly. “Aunt Maria thinks she did, but I used her phone.”

Maria’s phone. Maria’s dating app. Enzo felt his head go light.

“You went through your aunt’s—” he started.

“You’ve been sad for too long,” Leah cut in, matter-of-fact, like she was diagnosing a cold. “Mom wouldn’t want you to be sad forever.”

The mention of Esther hit him like a fist to the chest. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Esther’s name wasn’t supposed to be a bargaining chip in a café. It was supposed to stay tucked away in the quiet places of their lives, where Enzo could handle it in controlled doses.

Freya cleared her throat softly. “I’m… really confused,” she admitted, voice gentle but steady, “but maybe you should sit down.”

Enzo didn’t know what else to do, so he sat. His hands were shaking. He shoved them under the table like hiding them would hide the truth of him.

“Leah,” he said, forcing his voice to be calm, “this isn’t okay. You can’t just—”

“I know,” Leah sighed dramatically, then leaned in like they were co-conspirators. “But you kept saying no. And I saw Freya’s profile on Aunt Maria’s app, and she seemed really nice and she likes soccer too. So I thought…”

Enzo blinked. “She likes soccer?”

Freya’s lips twitched, a tiny smile threatening. “Apparently my interests were… thoroughly investigated.”

Leah shrugged like this was normal. “Anyway, I’m going to get a cookie,” she announced, hopping down before Enzo could stop her. “You two should talk.”

And just like that, Leah skipped toward the counter like she hadn’t just rearranged the entire architecture of Enzo’s evening.

Silence fell over the table, heavy and awkward, full of unasked questions.

Freya spoke first. “So,” she said, exhaling like she was trying to laugh and failing, “this is not how I imagined tonight going.”

“Join the club.” Enzo ran a hand through his hair, frustration and embarrassment tangling in his chest. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea she… I thought my sister set this up. I didn’t know Leah was involved. I didn’t even know she knew what a dating app was.”

“She’s resourceful,” Freya said, and there was something almost impressed in her voice. “I’ll give her that.”

Enzo let out a bitter almost-laugh. “I should leave. This is insane. I should take her home and ground her until she’s thirty.”

“You could.” Freya tilted her head. “Or you could stay.”

Enzo looked at her, startled.

Freya lifted one shoulder. “I mean, we’re already here, and your daughter clearly went through a lot of trouble. Also, if I leave now, she’ll probably find a way to match me with your mailman next.”

That did it. A real laugh escaped Enzo before he could stop it. It was brief, rusty, like a hinge that hadn’t moved in years, but it was real.

Freya’s smile warmed, and the kindness in her face loosened something in his chest he didn’t realize he’d been clenching.

“I don’t know what to say,” Enzo admitted, because honesty was suddenly easier than pretending.

“Start with why you haven’t dated in three years,” Freya said gently.

The question was soft, not pushy, but it still cut deep, finding the tender place he kept wrapped in routine and responsibility.

Enzo swallowed hard. “My wife,” he said, and even the word felt like stepping onto ice. “Esther. She died three years ago.”

Freya’s expression shifted, not into pity, but into something more respectful. Like she understood this wasn’t a story, it was a scar.

“Car accident,” Enzo continued, words tasting like ash. “It was raining. She didn’t want to go out that morning. We needed groceries, but she said we could order delivery. I insisted because I needed something for dinner, and…” His throat tightened. The memory came up sharp, headlights and rain and the last annoyed smile Esther gave him as she grabbed her keys. “A truck ran a red light. She didn’t make it.”

Enzo stared at the tabletop, at the scratches in the wood, because looking at Freya felt too exposing. “If I hadn’t asked her to go… if I’d just listened…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Freya said firmly, but gently, like she’d said that sentence to herself in the dark.

“It feels like it was,” Enzo whispered, and the confession landed between them like something fragile.

Freya looked down at her coffee cup, fingers tightening slightly. “I know that feeling,” she said.

Enzo’s head lifted. “You do?”

Freya hesitated, then nodded. “My fiancé,” she said quietly. “Jeremy. He went missing two years ago.”

Enzo’s brow furrowed. “Missing?”

“Just… vanished,” Freya said, and her voice had a hairline crack in it now. “Left for work one morning and never came home. No note. No explanation. No body.”

Enzo’s stomach tightened. “They never found him?”

“No.” Freya shook her head. “Police investigated. Friends, family, everyone searched. It’s like he disappeared into thin air.” She swallowed, eyes shining with something she didn’t let fall. “And the worst part is not knowing. Not knowing if he’s alive, if he’s hurt, if he left on purpose… if something terrible happened.”

Enzo couldn’t imagine that kind of limbo. At least death, brutal as it was, came with an ending you could name. Freya had been living in a sentence that never finished.

“I’m sorry,” Enzo said, and he meant it in a way that went past politeness.

“Me too,” Freya whispered, then forced a small breath. “For you. For your daughter. Losing a mother at that age…”

“She was six,” Enzo said, glancing toward the counter where Leah was now making the barista laugh like she owned the place. “Too young to understand, but old enough to remember.”

Freya’s eyes followed his. “She’s the only reason you’re still functioning,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

Enzo’s mouth tightened. “Some days I don’t want to get out of bed,” he admitted. “But she needs me, so I do.”

“She loves you,” Freya said softly. “That’s obvious.”

Enzo let out a short breath. “She thinks I need to move on. She keeps saying Esther would want me to be happy.” A bitter laugh edged in. “She’s probably right. Esther would’ve kicked my ass by now for moping. But I just… I can’t let go of the guilt.”

Freya’s gaze held steady. “Guilt is easier than grief sometimes,” she said quietly. “If we’re guilty, we have something to hold on to. Someone to blame. Even if it’s ourselves.”

Enzo stared at her. He felt seen in a way that made his throat tighten.

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked, voice low. “Holding on to guilt?”

Freya’s smile faded. “Maybe,” she admitted. “I keep thinking if I’d paid more attention that morning, if I’d noticed something was wrong, if I’d asked more questions…” She trailed off, the rest unspoken but loud. The truth was she didn’t know what happened, and she might never know, and that kind of not-knowing could hollow you out.

They sat in that shared understanding for a moment, two people who’d been living on separate islands of pain, suddenly hearing each other across the water.

Leah returned with a chocolate chip cookie the size of her face. “So,” she announced, eyes bright, “are you guys friends now?”

Enzo and Freya exchanged a look that held surprise and something else, something cautious.

“Maybe,” Freya said, then glanced at Enzo as if to check he was okay with the word.

Leah nodded like a CEO approving a merger. “Good,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate. “Because I think you’d be good for each other.”

Enzo’s heart lurched. “Leah…”

“I’m just saying.” Leah shrugged. “You both look less sad when you talk.”

Out of the mouths of babes, Enzo thought, except his babe had access to dating apps and a suspicious amount of confidence.

They stayed another twenty minutes. The conversation loosened, the way a knot loosens when you stop yanking on it. They talked about small things: favorite movies, worst jobs, embarrassing childhood stories. Leah interjected with school gossip and soccer highlights, and Freya listened like each detail mattered, like Leah’s life was something worth paying attention to.

When they finally stood to leave, Freya hesitated, hands tucked into her jacket pockets like she was hiding nerves.

“This might be weird,” she said, “but could I get your number? Your real number this time. Not filtered through a nine-year-old mastermind.”

Enzo felt something flutter in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in three years. It was dangerous and terrifying and, against his will, hopeful.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Okay.”

They exchanged numbers. Their fingers brushed when Freya handed his phone back, and the touch lingered a fraction longer than it had to, long enough to make Enzo’s pulse jump.

Outside, under streetlights and wet pavement, Leah slipped her hand into Enzo’s. “She’s nice, right?” she whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Enzo said, voice rough. “She’s nice.”

Leah looked up at him. “Are you mad at me?”

Enzo should’ve been. What Leah did was wrong. It was manipulative. It was wildly unsafe in the way only children could be without realizing it.

But Enzo looked down at his daughter, fierce and loving and impossible, and felt the truth land.

“I should be,” he said quietly. “But… I’m not completely.”

Leah smiled, relief blooming across her face. And for the first time in three years, Enzo smiled back without forcing it, even though he didn’t understand what was happening yet.

That night, after Leah was tucked into bed, Enzo’s phone buzzed.

Freya: Thank you for staying tonight. I know it was strange, but I’m glad I met you. Both of you.

Enzo stared at the screen, thumb hovering. He could keep this polite. He could keep it safe. He could put distance between himself and anything that might threaten the fragile balance he’d built for Leah.

Instead, he typed the truth.

Enzo: Me too.

And just like that, the thread between them existed, thin but real, tugging at the quiet spaces of his life.

The texts started small. Good morning. How was your day? Leah asks about you. Simple messages that didn’t demand too much but kept the connection alive.

Then Freya sent one that made Enzo laugh out loud in the dark.

Freya: Leah sent me a friend request on Instagram. Should I be worried?

Enzo: Very. She’s relentless. Fair warning.

Freya: I like relentless.

Days turned into a week. The texts got longer, stretching into late nights when Leah was asleep and the apartment felt too quiet, when ghosts got louder and the past felt like it lived in the corners.

Freya told him about her job at the library on NW 23rd, about the regular patrons she’d grown to love, about the older man who came in every Tuesday to read the same mystery novels because he forgot he’d already read them. Enzo told her about his work as a graphic designer, about clients who wanted seventeen revisions and still weren’t happy, about how Esther used to joke he’d go gray before forty dealing with people who couldn’t decide between navy blue and royal blue.

He hadn’t said Esther’s name that easily in years.

Freya didn’t point it out. She just responded with a laughing emoji and, a minute later, a softer message.

Freya: She sounds like she knew you really well.

Enzo stared at that sentence for a long time before typing back.

Enzo: She did.

And he didn’t add but she’s gone, because they both already knew, didn’t they?

Two weeks after the café, Freya texted something different.

Freya: Leah mentioned she has a soccer game Saturday. Would it be weird if I came? No pressure. Just thought I’d ask.

Enzo’s first instinct was no. Too fast. Too intimate. Too much. His second instinct was yes, because he imagined Leah’s face lighting up at the sight of Freya in the bleachers, and his chest warmed at the thought.

He stared at his phone, caught between caution and the quiet desire to stop living like he was already dead.

Enzo: She’d love that. Game’s at 10. I’ll send the address.

Saturday morning was crisp and clear, the kind of fall day Portland slipped you like a reward before the rain came back. Enzo spotted Freya the moment she walked onto the field: jeans, sneakers, a light jacket, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked nervous, scanning for him like she wasn’t sure she belonged in this part of his life.

“You came,” Enzo said, smiling before he could stop himself.

“I promised,” Freya replied, and her smile was tentative but real. “Didn’t I?”

She glanced toward the field where kids were warming up.

“Which one’s Leah?” she asked.

Enzo pointed. “Number seven. The one currently doing cartwheels instead of stretching.”

Freya laughed, and the sound made Enzo’s chest loosen. “That tracks.”

They sat together on cold metal bleachers, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Parents shouted encouragement. Someone complained about parking. A dad in a Beavers hoodie offered Freya a hand warmer like she’d been part of the group forever.

The game started, and Leah played like she had something to prove. Fast, aggressive, fearless. She scored twice, and each time she looked toward the stands to make sure they were watching.

“She’s really good,” Freya said.

“She gets that from Esther,” Enzo admitted, and it was the first time he’d said something positive about his wife without choking on it.

Freya’s eyes flicked to his face, noticing. She didn’t comment, but her hand brushed his on the bench. And this time, she didn’t pull away.

After the game, Leah sprinted over, sweaty and breathless and glowing. “Did you see?” she demanded. “Did you see my second goal?”

“We saw,” Enzo said, ruffling her hair. “You were amazing.”

Leah turned to Freya with the intensity of a child who needed confirmation. “What did you think?”

Freya held up her hand for a high five. “I think you’re going to be a professional someday,” she said.

Leah slapped her palm enthusiastically. “Yes!”

Then Leah turned back to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. “Can Freya come to lunch with us, please?”

Enzo looked at Freya. Freya looked at him. There was a question in her eyes: Are you sure? Are you ready for this?

Enzo answered with a small nod, because he didn’t trust his voice.

“I’d love to,” Freya said, and Leah’s victory grin returned full force.

They went to a diner off SE Division that served breakfast all day, the kind of place with chipped mugs and laminated menus and a waitress who called everyone “hon” like it was a blessing. Leah ordered pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries and talked non-stop about the game, about school, about her best friend who put ketchup on everything.

Freya listened like every word mattered, asked questions, laughed at Leah’s jokes even when they didn’t quite land. Enzo watched them together and felt something crack open inside him, something that had been sealed shut for three years.

Over the next few weeks, it became a routine. Freya at soccer games. Sunday afternoon walks in Laurelhurst Park. Movie nights where Leah fell asleep twenty minutes in and they kept watching anyway, talking in whispers so they wouldn’t wake her.

One evening, after Leah went to bed, Enzo walked Freya to her car. The air smelled like wet leaves and wood smoke from someone’s fireplace down the block.

“Thank you,” Enzo said, voice quiet. “For being so patient with all this. With me. With my mess.”

Freya leaned against her car door. “You’re not a mess,” she said. “You’re grieving. There’s a difference.”

“It feels like the same thing most days,” Enzo admitted.

“I know.” Freya looked up at the sky, at clouds hiding stars. “But some days are better than others now, aren’t they?”

Enzo thought about it. Really thought. He pictured Leah laughing at the diner. He pictured himself smiling without forcing it. He pictured the way Freya’s presence made his apartment feel less like a mausoleum.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, they are.”

Freya’s smile was small but bright. “That’s progress.”

Enzo’s chest tightened with a question he’d been avoiding. “Is it progress for you too?” he asked. “I mean… Jeremy.”

Freya was quiet for a long moment. “I think so,” she admitted. “I don’t check my phone hoping for him anymore. I don’t expect him to walk through my door.” Her voice wavered. “I’m starting to accept he’s gone, even if I don’t know where or why.”

She met Enzo’s eyes, and fear flickered there. “That terrifies me,” she whispered.

“Because if you accept it, you’re moving on,” Enzo said.

Freya nodded, swallowing hard. “If I move on… what does that make me?”

Enzo stepped closer, voice steady. “Human,” he said. “It makes you human.”

Freya’s eyes shimmered. “I miss him,” she said, voice cracking. “But I can’t keep living like he’s coming back. I can’t keep waiting.”

“You don’t have to,” Enzo said, and he meant it like a promise.

Freya laughed softly, no humor in it. “What if he does come back?” she whispered. “What if I move on and then he shows up and…”

Enzo reached for her hand. “You can’t live your life on what-ifs,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I tried. It’ll destroy you.”

Freya squeezed his hand, trembling. “When did you get so wise?” she asked.

Enzo smiled, a little crooked. “About five minutes ago,” he said. “I’m figuring this out as I go.”

“Me too,” Freya whispered.

They stood there in the quiet with their hands linked, the space between them charged with something neither of them was quite ready to name.

Three days later, Enzo asked Freya on a real date. Just the two of them. No Leah. No distractions.

“Are you sure?” Freya asked over the phone, and Enzo could hear the nerves under her voice.

“No,” Enzo admitted. “But I want to try.”

A beat.

“Okay,” Freya said softly, and he could hear her smile. “Let’s try.”

The restaurant was small, intimate, tucked into a side street in the Pearl District, candles on every table, soft jazz threading through the air. Enzo’s hands sweated in his lap. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first date with Esther fifteen years ago, when he’d worn too much cologne and knocked over his water glass.

But Freya sat across from him looking beautiful in a simple dress, and the nervousness softened into something warmer, something steadier.

They talked about childhoods, families, dreams they’d had before life got complicated. Freya admitted she’d wanted to be a writer once. Enzo said he’d wanted to travel the world. They laughed about how different life turned out, and then they got quiet because the truth was maybe it wasn’t too late to want things again.

Halfway through dessert, Freya looked at him like she was about to jump off a cliff.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

Enzo’s heart thudded. “Yeah.”

“I haven’t felt this alive in two years,” Freya confessed, voice trembling. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

“Good scared or bad scared?” Enzo asked.

“Both,” Freya admitted, reaching across the table. Her fingers found his, and her touch was warm. “But mostly good.”

Enzo swallowed hard. “I feel the same,” he said. “Like I’m betraying Esther just by being here, but also like… maybe this is what she’d want. For me to keep living.”

Freya’s grip tightened. “She would,” she said firmly. “And Jeremy… wherever he is… would want that for me too. I have to believe that.”

Outside under streetlights and a half moon, Enzo walked Freya to her car. Neither of them wanted the night to end. They stood too close, breath mingling in the cold air, and Enzo could see flecks of gold in her brown eyes.

He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t.

Their kiss was soft, tentative at first, tasting like wine and hope and the kind of second chance you don’t trust yet. When they pulled apart, Freya’s eyes were bright and wet.

“I love you,” Enzo blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His heart lurched. “God. Is it too soon to say that? Maybe it’s too soon. I just… I love you.”

Freya laughed and cried at the same time, pressing her forehead to his. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I love you too.”

They kissed again, deeper, like they were making up for lost time and lonely nights and futures they’d thought were gone forever.

That night, Freya drove home with a lightness in her chest she hadn’t felt in years. She parked, leaned back in her seat, and just breathed. Really breathed.

She was alive.

She was in love.

She was allowed to be happy.

Inside her apartment, she changed into pajamas, climbed into bed, and replayed the evening like a song she didn’t want to end. Enzo’s smile. His kiss. The way he said I love you like he was handing her his heart and trusting her not to break it.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Freya smiled before she even looked, expecting a sweet goodnight from Enzo.

But the message wasn’t from Enzo.

Unknown number.

Three words made her blood go cold.

I miss you, Frey.

Frey.

Only one person had ever called her that, shortened her name with that exact spelling, with that exact softness that used to make her melt.

Jeremy.

Freya’s hand started shaking. The phone slipped from her fingers onto the blanket. She stared at the message like it might vanish if she stared hard enough.

No.

No, this wasn’t possible.

Jeremy had been gone for two years. Two years of silence. Two years of searching and waiting and finally, finally starting to accept she might never know.

It had to be a mistake. A cruel prank. Someone who found her number and wanted to watch her squirm.

Her fingers moved on autopilot. Delete. Block. Toss the phone onto the nightstand like it might burn her.

But she couldn’t unsee those words.

I miss you, Frey.

She lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, chest tight with something between hope and horror, and one thought kept circling like a vulture.

What if it’s really him?

Freya didn’t sleep.

She watched shadows shift across the walls as headlights passed outside. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those three words. Every time her stomach clenched, she wondered if her body already knew something her mind couldn’t accept.

By morning, she tried to talk herself down. Wrong number. Prank. Glitch. Anything except the thing her heart whispered when the room went quiet.

She showered, dressed, put on mascara like armor. Enzo had texted her goodnight after she’d deleted the message, and she’d forced herself to respond with a heart emoji and nothing more. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she understood what it meant.

Besides, they were supposed to meet today. Enzo wanted to take her to a little bookstore he loved, the one with a cat in the window that judged customers like it was on payroll. Freya needed normal. She needed to see Enzo’s face and remember last night was real.

She was pulling on her jacket when someone knocked on her door.

It was too early for Enzo.

Freya’s heart stuttered. She opened the door expecting a delivery, a neighbor, literally anyone else.

Jeremy stood there.

The world tilted.

Freya’s knees buckled. She grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling.

He looked exactly the same. Same brown hair, same green eyes, same dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. He was thinner, worn around the edges, but it was him. Undeniably. Impossibly.

“Hi, Frey,” Jeremy said, voice cracking like he’d practiced this speech and still couldn’t get it right. “I missed you, baby.”

Freya couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process the way her past had just stepped onto her welcome mat.

Jeremy shifted nervously. “Can I… can I come in? I know this is a shock. I know I owe you explanations. I know.”

“Where were you?” Freya rasped, and the words ripped out raw and sharp. “Where the hell were you?”

“It’s complicated.” Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made her chest ache. “Can we talk inside, please?”

Freya’s mind screamed to slam the door, to call the police, to call Enzo, to do anything except let this ghost cross her threshold. But her body moved anyway, stepping aside like she was trapped in a dream she couldn’t control.

Jeremy walked into her apartment like he still belonged there, glancing around at the new couch, the different curtains, the photos on the wall that didn’t include him anymore.

“You redecorated,” he said softly.

“You were gone for two years,” Freya snapped, voice shaking. “What did you expect?”

“I know,” Jeremy said quickly. “I know. And I’m sorry. God, Frey, I’m so sorry.” Tears shone in his eyes. “I wanted to contact you. Every day I wanted to call, to text, to tell you I was okay, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Freya demanded.

Jeremy’s words poured out fast, desperate. “I was in trouble. Bad trouble. I owed money to people you don’t say no to. They were going to hurt you to get to me. So I left. I disappeared to keep you safe. I’ve been working, saving, trying to pay off what I owed so I could come back.” He took a shaky breath. “And I finally did it. I’m free. We’re free.”

Freya’s head spun. Her stomach turned. His story sounded like a movie plot someone would sell to a network, not the explanation for two years of agony.

“You’re lying,” she said.

“I’m not,” Jeremy insisted. “You think I wanted to leave you? You think I wanted you to suffer? Frey, I left to save your life.”

“Stop.” Freya held up a hand, trembling. “Just stop. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

Jeremy stepped closer, hands out like he wanted to touch her but knew he shouldn’t. “I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I never stopped. I thought about you every day. Coming home to you is what kept me going.”

Tears spilled down Freya’s face. “You don’t get to do this,” she choked out. “You don’t get to walk back into my life and say you love me like nothing happened.”

“I know it’s not that simple,” Jeremy whispered.

“It’s not simple at all!” Freya’s voice rose. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? Police investigations. Search parties. Nights I stayed awake wondering if you were dead or hurt or if you left on purpose.” Her breath hitched. “I mourned you, Jeremy. I buried you in my heart because I had no body to bury anywhere else.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Freya’s phone buzzed on the counter.

She glanced automatically.

Enzo: On my way. Can’t wait to see you.

The text hit like ice water. Enzo. The bookstore. The date. The fragile happiness she’d let herself believe in last night.

Jeremy saw her face change. His eyes narrowed. “Enzo,” he said, reading it like a threat. “You’re seeing someone.”

“That’s none of your business,” Freya snapped.

“It is if we’re getting back together,” Jeremy insisted.

“We’re not getting back together,” Freya said, and the words surprised her with their certainty. “You can’t just show up and expect everything to go back to how it was.”

“Why not?” Jeremy’s voice rose. “We were engaged, Frey. We had plans. We had a life.”

“Had,” Freya spat. “Past tense. That life ended two years ago when you disappeared.”

“But I’m back now,” Jeremy argued. “I’m here. We can start over. We can—”

A knock sounded at the door.

Freya’s heart stopped.

Not now. Please. Not now.

She knew who it was before she even looked through the peephole.

Enzo stood on her doorstep holding a bouquet of sunflowers, her favorite because she’d mentioned it once in passing and he’d remembered. He was smiling, that soft smile that made her feel safe.

Freya opened the door slowly.

“Hey,” Enzo said warmly. “I know I’m early, but I passed a flower shop and I thought—” He stopped mid-sentence.

His eyes moved past her, landing on Jeremy standing in the middle of her living room.

Enzo’s smile died like someone had cut the power.

“What’s going on?” Enzo asked, voice tight.

Freya couldn’t find words. Her throat locked. Her mind raced too fast to grab one.

Jeremy stepped forward, protective and possessive all at once. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Enzo looked at Freya, confusion and hurt dawning. “I’m—” He swallowed. “Freya. Who is this?”

Freya’s voice came out as a whisper that tasted like ash. “This is Jeremy. My fiancé.”

Enzo’s face went still, like he’d been punched somewhere he couldn’t show.

“Ex,” Enzo said, and it was a desperate hope. “Your ex, right?”

Freya couldn’t answer because she didn’t know. Could someone be your ex when you never officially ended things? When they just vanished and left you holding the broken pieces?

“Not ex,” Jeremy said firmly. “We never broke up. I just had to leave for a while.”

“A while?” Enzo’s voice sharpened, hurt twisting into anger. “Two years is a while.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Jeremy snapped.

“You’re right,” Enzo said coldly. “I don’t.”

Enzo looked back at Freya, and the pain in his eyes made her stomach twist. “Freya, what is this?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, and it was the only honest answer she had. “He showed up this morning. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know he was coming back.”

“But he’s back now,” Enzo said, jaw clenched. “And you let him in.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Freya cried, the panic rising. “Slam the door in his face?”

“Maybe,” Enzo shot back, hands shaking around the sunflowers. “God, Freya. We said we loved each other last night. Last night.”

Freya flinched.

Enzo’s eyes flicked to Jeremy, then back to her. “Is that what I am?” he asked, voice cracking. “A placeholder until he came back?”

“No,” Freya said, the word tearing out. “No, Enzo. It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Enzo demanded, and he never raised his voice, which made it worse. “Because from where I’m standing, the love of your life just walked back through your door, and I’m just the guy who helped you pass the time.”

“That’s not fair,” Freya sobbed. “None of this is fair.”

“I opened my heart to you,” Enzo said, voice shaking. “I let Leah love you. And now what? You’re going to choose him? The man who abandoned you for two years?”

“I didn’t abandon her,” Jeremy cut in. “I was protecting her.”

“Stay out of this,” Enzo snapped, eyes still on Freya. “This is between me and her.”

“Actually, it’s between me and her,” Jeremy insisted. “We were together first. We have history.”

“History?” Enzo laughed bitterly. “She spent two years grieving you. Two years thinking you were dead. Where were you?”

Jeremy’s jaw tightened. “Trying to stay alive so I could come back.”

“Enough!” Freya screamed, the sound slicing through the air. Silence slammed down.

Both men stared at her, waiting.

Freya looked at Jeremy, the man she’d planned to marry, the man who knew her before grief carved her into someone new. Then she looked at Enzo, the man who helped her remember how to live again, who didn’t flinch at her broken parts.

Her heart felt like it was tearing in two.

“I need time,” she whispered. “I need to think.”

“Time?” Enzo’s face crumpled. “Freya, please don’t do this.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Freya cried. “Jeremy was my whole future. Then he vanished and I had to rebuild myself from nothing. And now he’s back and you’re here and I—” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how to choose.”

Enzo stared at her like she’d stabbed him. “You’re actually considering this?” he whispered. “You’re actually thinking about going back to him.”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Freya sobbed. “I just need time to process. Please.”

Enzo’s shoulders sagged. The sunflowers slipped from his hand and hit the concrete, scattering bright yellow petals across the gray like spilled sunlight.

“I opened my heart to you,” Enzo said quietly. “After three years of being dead inside, I let myself feel again. For you.”

He backed away toward the stairs, eyes wet. “But I can’t compete with a ghost,” he said, voice cracking. “And I won’t wait around while you figure out if I’m worth choosing.”

“Enzo, please,” Freya begged.

But he was already walking away, down the stairs, out of sight.

Freya stood frozen in her doorway, tears streaming, Jeremy behind her and Enzo disappearing in front of her. Two men. Two futures. Two versions of herself reflected back.

And she had no idea which one was real.

Jeremy’s hand touched her shoulder. “Frey,” he said softly, “come inside. We’ll talk. We’ll figure this out.”

Freya stared at his hand like it belonged to a stranger. Then she looked at the empty stairwell where Enzo had vanished.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t look, because whatever it said would either break her heart or make the decision for her, and she wasn’t ready for either.

But she could feel the choice coming, closing in like weather, couldn’t she?

Enzo drove home with his hands shaking on the steering wheel.

Rain started halfway down I-405, thin at first and then heavier, the wipers squeaking like complaints. The city blurred into lights and wet pavement and the sound of his own breathing too loud in the car.

He kept seeing Freya’s face in the doorway, torn and panicked, and Jeremy behind her like an unwanted shadow. He kept hearing his own voice say ghost and realizing that’s what Jeremy had been to Freya, a ghost she’d mourned without burying.

Enzo knew that kind of ghost.

He’d lived with Esther’s ghost for three years, not in a spooky way, but in the way a toothbrush still in a cup can knock the air out of you. In the way a song on the radio can ruin an entire grocery aisle. In the way your kid says Mommy would’ve laughed at this and you have to swallow hard so you don’t collapse.

He pulled into his apartment lot and sat in the car for a full minute, forehead against the steering wheel. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to rewind time to the café and pretend he never walked in.

Then he saw Leah’s bedroom light on through the window.

Of course she was awake.

Leah was waiting in the living room in pajamas, arms folded like she was Maria’s miniature clone. “Where’s Freya?” she asked immediately.

Enzo’s chest tightened. “She… had something come up,” he lied, because his daughter was nine and didn’t need adult heartbreak on a school night.

Leah’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

Enzo sighed, the fight draining out of him. “Go to bed, Leah.”

Leah didn’t move. “Did you mess it up?” she asked softly, and the fear under her bravado made Enzo’s throat ache.

“I didn’t mess it up,” Enzo said, then stopped because he didn’t know if that was true. “It’s complicated.”

Leah stared at him for a long time, then her voice got small. “Dad,” she whispered, “are you going to be sad again?”

Enzo’s heart cracked. He crouched, pulled her into a hug. “I’m always going to be your dad,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m always going to take care of you. Okay?”

Leah clung to him, but he could feel her trying to be brave, trying to hold him up the way kids shouldn’t have to. “Okay,” she whispered.

After she went to bed, Enzo sat on the couch in the dark, staring at his phone. He wanted to text Freya. He wanted to demand answers. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t a placeholder.

Instead, he did nothing, because doing nothing felt safer than hearing a reply that would confirm his worst fear.

Across town, Freya sat at her kitchen table with Jeremy, the air between them brittle.

Jeremy talked like he was trying to fast-forward to forgiveness. He kept saying we can start over, we can fix this, I’m back now, like the last two years were a minor inconvenience.

Freya listened, and the longer he talked, the more something cold settled in her chest.

Not because she didn’t feel anything for him. She did. You don’t mourn someone for two years and come out untouched. But it wasn’t the same feeling anymore. It wasn’t the warm certainty she remembered. It was a tangled ache and anger and disbelief.

“Show me,” Freya said suddenly.

Jeremy blinked. “Show you what?”

“Proof,” Freya said, voice steady. “Proof you left to protect me. Proof you weren’t just running.”

Jeremy’s jaw tightened. “Frey, you think I planned this? You think I wanted to disappear?”

“I think you wanted to,” Freya said quietly, and the sentence landed like a slap.

Jeremy’s eyes flashed. “That’s not fair.”

Freya laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You want to talk about fair?” she asked. “You let me think you were dead.”

“I didn’t let you think—”

“You vanished,” Freya cut in. “You chose silence. That’s letting.”

Jeremy leaned forward, hands on the table. “I can explain everything,” he insisted. “Just… not all of it. Some of it is dangerous.”

Freya stared at him, and she realized he was still controlling the truth. Still deciding what she deserved to know.

That was the part that made her stomach turn.

“Enzo,” Jeremy said suddenly, voice sharpening. “Who is he?”

Freya flinched at the name. “Someone who didn’t lie to me,” she said.

Jeremy’s face hardened. “So you replaced me.”

Freya’s breath hitched. “You don’t get to call it that,” she whispered. “You left. I survived.”

Jeremy’s eyes filled with anger and something like panic. “We were engaged,” he said, voice rising. “You’re mine, Frey.”

Freya’s skin went cold. The possessiveness in his tone wasn’t love. It was ownership.

Freya stood abruptly. “Don’t,” she said, voice shaking. “Don’t talk about me like I’m something you misplaced.”

Jeremy’s expression shifted, too fast. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” Freya said, and she realized she meant it.

The room went quiet. Jeremy watched her like he was recalculating.

Freya’s phone buzzed again on the counter. She glanced this time, and her heart sank.

Maria: FREYA, CALL ME. NOW.

Freya stared at it, pulse quickening. Why would Maria be texting her?

Then her phone rang.

Maria.

Freya answered with shaking fingers. “Maria?”

“Freya,” Maria said, breathless, and her voice was sharp with panic. “Where are you?”

“At home,” Freya said slowly. “Why?”

“Enzo just called me,” Maria said. “He sounded… wrecked. He said a man showed up at your place. A fiancé. Freya, what is going on?”

Freya’s throat tightened. She looked at Jeremy across the table, his expression guarded.

“It’s Jeremy,” Freya whispered. “He’s back.”

Maria went silent for a beat. “Back from where?” she asked carefully, and Freya heard something suspicious under her tone.

“I don’t know,” Freya admitted. “He says he disappeared because he owed money, because he was protecting me.”

Maria inhaled sharply. “Freya,” she said, voice low, “I need you to listen to me. Two months ago, I was scrolling local news, and I saw something… there was a photo. A guy who looked like him. Wanted for fraud. They said he’d been missing too, like a disappearance. I thought I was imagining it, but—”

Freya’s blood turned to ice. “What?” she whispered.

“Don’t say anything to him,” Maria warned. “Just… be careful. And Freya… Enzo is not okay.”

Freya’s chest tightened painfully. Enzo. Leah. The sunflowers on the concrete. The way Enzo walked away like he’d just been abandoned all over again.

“I have to go,” Freya whispered.

Maria’s voice was urgent. “Freya—”

Freya hung up and stared at Jeremy.

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?” he demanded.

Freya forced her voice steady. “My friend,” she lied.

Jeremy stood, tension coiling in his body. “Are you calling the cops on me?” he asked, and the question came too fast, too defensive.

Freya’s stomach dropped. “Why would you say that?” she asked carefully.

Jeremy’s jaw tightened. “Because you’re looking at me like I’m a stranger,” he snapped. “Because you’re acting like I’m the villain.”

Freya swallowed, forcing calm. “I’m tired,” she said. “I need space. You need to leave.”

Jeremy stared at her, disbelief turning to anger. “Leave?” he repeated. “Frey, I just got back.”

“You don’t get to show up and make demands,” Freya said, voice trembling. “Not after two years.”

Jeremy’s eyes flashed. “You’re choosing him,” he accused.

Freya’s breath caught. “I’m choosing myself,” she said quietly.

Jeremy stepped closer, voice lowering. “You don’t understand,” he said. “If you push me out, you’re putting yourself back in danger.”

Freya’s pulse spiked. “What danger?” she asked, and she hated how her voice shook.

Jeremy’s lips pressed together. “The same danger I left to protect you from.”

Freya stared at him and realized something terrifying.

He was using fear like a leash.

Freya backed toward the door. “Leave,” she said again, louder now.

Jeremy’s gaze flicked around, calculating. Then his face softened instantly, too smooth. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. I’ll go. But we’re not done talking.”

Freya opened the door, heart pounding, and watched him walk out into the gray day.

The second the door shut, Freya’s knees went weak. She leaned against it, shaking.

Then she grabbed her phone and did something she hadn’t done in two years.

She called the non-emergency police line.

Because if Jeremy was lying, she needed the truth.

And if Enzo was hurt, she couldn’t let him bleed alone, could she?

Enzo didn’t answer her first call.

Freya stood outside her car in the library parking lot later that afternoon, rain dampening her hair, phone pressed to her ear as it rang and rang.

She’d gone to work on autopilot, shelved books with hands that didn’t feel like hers, smiled at a toddler asking for dinosaur stories. She’d waited until her shift ended, then called Enzo again.

No answer.

She texted.

Freya: Enzo, please. I need to talk. I didn’t know he was coming. I swear.

Three dots didn’t appear.

Freya’s chest ached. She pictured Enzo sitting in the dark, phone in hand, deciding silence was safer than hope. She recognized the instinct. It was the same one she’d used when Jeremy vanished, the same one that said if you don’t reach, you can’t be dropped.

She drove to Enzo’s apartment anyway, because avoidance had cost her too much already.

Leah opened the door.

Her eyes widened when she saw Freya, then narrowed like a tiny detective. “You made my dad sad,” she accused immediately.

Freya’s throat tightened. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Can I talk to him?”

Leah hesitated, then stepped aside. “He’s in the kitchen,” she muttered.

Freya walked in and found Enzo leaning over the counter, hands braced, staring at nothing. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

When he heard her footsteps, he didn’t turn. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice flat.

Freya swallowed hard. “I know,” she said. “But I needed you to hear it from me.”

Enzo turned slowly, eyes tired and guarded. “Hear what?” he asked. “That you’re back with him?”

“No,” Freya said fiercely. “That I didn’t know. That I didn’t choose this. That I’m not… I’m not using you.”

Enzo’s jaw clenched. “It felt like it,” he admitted, and the vulnerability in his voice cut her deeper than anger would have.

“I know,” Freya whispered, tears rising. “And I hate that. But Enzo, he showed up out of nowhere. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do.”

Enzo laughed bitterly. “So you asked for time,” he said. “Time to decide if I’m worth it.”

Freya flinched. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what you said,” Enzo shot back, then immediately softened when Leah’s footsteps padded closer.

Leah stood in the doorway, arms folded. “Dad,” she said, voice small, “don’t be mean.”

Enzo looked at his daughter, and his face cracked. “Go to your room, Leah,” he said quietly.

Leah didn’t move. “No,” she said, and there was stubborn love in her voice. “Freya didn’t know. I can tell.”

Enzo stared at Leah, stunned. “You can tell?” he repeated.

Leah shrugged like it was obvious. “People’s eyes look different when they’re lying,” she said. “Freya’s eyes don’t look like that.”

Freya felt her throat tighten. “Leah,” she whispered.

Leah stepped closer. “Are you leaving?” she asked Freya, fear slipping through the cracks.

Freya’s chest hurt. “I don’t want to,” she admitted, voice shaking. “But I need to fix something first.”

Enzo closed his eyes, swallowing hard. When he opened them, his gaze was on Freya, steady but pained. “Fix it how?” he asked.

Freya took a breath. “The police are looking into him,” she said carefully. “My friend… your sister… she saw something online. There might be more to his story.” Freya’s hands trembled. “Enzo, I think he lied to me for two years. And I think he’s lying now.”

Enzo’s expression tightened. “So what happens if you’re right?” he asked.

Freya’s voice dropped. “Then he’s dangerous,” she whispered.

The word landed in the kitchen like a siren.

Enzo’s eyes flicked to Leah. His posture changed instantly, protective. “Leah,” he said, voice low, “go to your room. Now.”

Leah hesitated, then backed away.

When she was gone, Enzo stepped closer to Freya. “Did he threaten you?” he asked.

“Not directly,” Freya admitted. “But he talked about danger. Like he wanted me scared.”

Enzo’s jaw clenched. “And you came here anyway,” he said. “You brought that to my door.”

Freya flinched. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Enzo interrupted, voice rough. He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m reacting. I lost Esther in the rain because a stranger ran a red light. The idea of another stranger showing up in our lives… it makes my skin crawl.”

Freya’s eyes filled. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Enzo stared at her for a long moment, then his voice broke. “I can’t do the triangle,” he said quietly. “I can’t be the guy who waits while someone decides if I matter. I have Leah. I have to protect her from… from instability.”

Freya nodded slowly, heart aching. “I understand,” she whispered.

Enzo’s gaze held hers. “Do you?” he asked. “Because if you walk out now and go back to him… I don’t know if I can let you back in.”

Freya swallowed hard, tears spilling. “I’m not going back to him,” she said, voice shaking but certain. “I just… I need to end it safely. I need to know what’s true.”

Enzo’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

Freya stepped toward him, careful. “I love you,” she whispered, and the words hurt because they were real and she’d almost lost the right to say them.

Enzo’s eyes flashed with pain. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Not until you’re sure.”

Freya’s breath hitched. “I am sure,” she said. “But I need you to be safe while I deal with him.”

Enzo stared at her, torn between fear and longing. Finally, he nodded once. “Tell me what you need,” he said.

Freya exhaled shakily. “Just… don’t shut me out,” she pleaded. “Not completely.”

Enzo didn’t promise. He just looked at her like he wanted to, and that was enough to make her chest ache with hope.

Then the buzzer to Enzo’s apartment sounded.

Both of them froze.

Enzo’s eyes widened. “Who’s that?” he whispered.

Freya’s blood ran cold, because in her gut, she already knew, didn’t she?

The buzzer sounded again, longer this time, impatient.

Enzo moved toward the door, body tense. Freya grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” she whispered. “Don’t open it.”

Enzo’s jaw clenched. “Leah’s here,” he said. “I’m not letting some—”

A knock hit the door, hard enough to rattle the frame.

Then a voice came through, muffled but unmistakable.

“Frey,” Jeremy called. “I know you’re in there.”

Freya’s chest tightened so hard she could barely breathe.

Enzo stared at her, fury and fear flashing. “He followed you,” Enzo whispered.

Freya shook her head, panicked. “I didn’t— I didn’t think—”

Jeremy knocked again, harder. “Open up,” he demanded, voice sharp. “We need to talk.”

Leah’s bedroom door cracked open down the hall. “Dad?” she called, frightened.

Enzo’s whole body went rigid. He moved to block the hallway with his body like a shield. “Leah,” he said, voice steadying, “go to your room. Lock the door. Now.”

Leah didn’t argue this time. Her footsteps retreated fast.

Freya’s hands shook as she grabbed her phone. She dialed 911 with trembling fingers.

Enzo kept his voice low. “Police,” he murmured to Freya. “Now.”

Freya nodded, trying to speak to the dispatcher without her voice cracking. “There’s a man outside,” she whispered. “He’s… he’s not supposed to be here.”

Jeremy pounded again. “Frey!” he shouted. “Stop hiding behind him!”

Freya flinched.

Enzo stepped close to the door, voice loud enough to carry. “You need to leave,” he called. “Now. Police are on the way.”

Jeremy laughed, harsh. “You think you can scare me?” he barked. “You don’t even know what you walked into, man.”

Enzo’s jaw tightened. “I know enough,” he snapped.

Freya could hear the dispatcher asking questions, could hear herself answering like she was outside her body.

Jeremy’s voice dropped, suddenly sweet. “Frey,” he called, “come out. Let’s talk like adults. I didn’t come to hurt you.”

Freya’s stomach turned at the sudden shift. She stepped closer to the door, heart hammering.

“Don’t,” Enzo whispered, grabbing her arm gently. “You don’t owe him a conversation.”

Freya’s breath hitched. “I owe myself an ending,” she whispered back.

Enzo looked at her, fear in his eyes. “Freya—”

“I need to say it,” Freya said, voice shaking. “I need to make it real.”

Enzo hesitated, then nodded once, stepping slightly back but staying close.

Freya took a breath, then called through the door, voice loud and steady despite the tremble in her hands.

“Jeremy,” she said, “you need to leave.”

Silence.

Then Jeremy’s voice came back, low and furious. “So you’re choosing him,” he said.

Freya swallowed hard. “I’m choosing the truth,” she said. “And you haven’t given me any.”

Jeremy’s laugh was sharp. “Truth?” he spat. “You want truth? You want to know why I left? Fine. I left because you weren’t strong enough for what I got into. I left because you’d have cracked.”

Freya’s blood went cold.

Enzo’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent, letting Freya handle it.

Freya’s voice shook. “You don’t get to blame me,” she said.

Jeremy’s breath came fast. “You think you can just move on? You think you can just replace me?” he snarled. “You’re mine, Frey.”

Freya closed her eyes, and something inside her snapped into clarity. The grief. The waiting. The love she’d clung to like an anchor. All of it shifted into a single, hard truth.

She didn’t miss this man.

She missed the version of him she’d invented while he was gone.

And she was done letting a ghost decide her future.

The sound of sirens rose in the distance, faint but growing.

Jeremy heard it too. “You called the cops,” he hissed.

Freya’s voice steadied. “Yes,” she said.

Jeremy’s tone turned pleading, panicked. “Frey, don’t. You don’t understand what you’re doing. If they take me, if they—”

“Then you should’ve thought about that before you disappeared,” Freya snapped, voice breaking with fury. “Before you let me bury you in my heart.”

Sirens got louder.

Jeremy’s footsteps shifted on the landing. “Open the door,” he demanded, desperation sharpening again. “Just open it.”

Enzo leaned close to Freya’s ear. “Don’t,” he whispered.

Freya nodded.

A hard thud hit the door, like Jeremy had kicked it.

Enzo surged forward instinctively, shoulder braced, holding it shut.

Freya’s heart pounded as the sirens arrived outside.

Voices in the hallway. Heavy footsteps. A firm shout.

“Police! Step away from the door!”

Silence, then Jeremy’s voice, suddenly smooth. “I’m leaving,” he called. “No problem.”

Freya held her breath.

The door handle rattled once, then stopped.

Minutes felt like hours.

Finally, a knock came, controlled and official.

Enzo cracked the door, chain still on.

Two officers stood there, rain dampening their uniforms. One looked past Enzo, eyes landing on Freya. “Ma’am,” he said calmly, “are you Freya Sorenson?”

Freya’s throat tightened. “Yes,” she whispered.

The officer nodded. “We need you to confirm something,” he said. “The man outside… is Jeremy Carter?”

Freya’s chest tightened. “Yes,” she said, voice small.

The officer’s expression hardened slightly. “Ma’am,” he said, “Jeremy Carter has an active warrant.”

Freya’s stomach dropped. The world narrowed to the sound of rain and her own heartbeat.

Enzo’s hand found hers, squeezing.

The officer’s voice softened. “You did the right thing calling,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Freya nodded, but tears blurred her vision.

Enzo’s voice was rough. “Is Leah safe?” he asked quickly.

“Your daughter?” the officer asked.

Enzo nodded.

“She’s safe,” the officer assured. “We didn’t let him get close.”

Freya exhaled, shaking.

Then she saw movement through the cracked doorway, Jeremy being guided down the stairs. His face was twisted, furious, humiliated. When his eyes locked on Freya, the look in them made her blood run cold.

“This isn’t over!” Jeremy shouted.

Enzo moved instinctively, body blocking the doorway.

Freya forced herself forward, voice trembling but loud enough for Jeremy to hear.

“Jeremy,” she said, and her voice felt like it came from a deeper place than fear, “you don’t get to rewrite what you broke.”

LOVE ISN’T A GHOST YOU CHASE, IT’S A DOOR YOU CHOOSE TO WALK THROUGH.

Freya stepped closer, tears sliding down her face, and pointed at the life she’d built with her own hands. “I’m not waiting anymore,” she said, voice steady now. “I’m not yours. I never was. And I’m done letting your disappearance define me.” Jeremy’s face contorted, but the officers moved him down the stairs, his shoes scraping the concrete like punctuation. Freya turned to Enzo, and the raw truth hit her all at once: the past had returned, but it didn’t own her. The future was standing right here, shaking, terrified, still choosing to protect her anyway.

The officers left after taking statements. The hallway went quiet again, but the quiet felt different now. Less haunted. More hollow in a way that meant something had finally ended.

Enzo closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing hard. His hands shook.

Freya stood in the middle of the living room, trembling, and felt the aftermath settle in her bones.

Leah’s bedroom door opened slowly. Leah stepped out, eyes wide. “Is he gone?” she whispered.

Enzo moved to her immediately, crouching, pulling her into his arms. “He’s gone,” Enzo murmured. “You’re okay.”

Leah clung to him, then looked over his shoulder at Freya. Her voice was tiny. “Are you okay?” she asked Freya.

Freya’s throat tightened. “I will be,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Leah shook her head fiercely. “It’s not your fault,” she said, and Enzo stiffened at the echo of words he’d once needed to hear.

Freya’s eyes filled. “Thank you,” she whispered.

After Leah went back to her room, Enzo and Freya stood in the kitchen, the air heavy with everything they hadn’t said.

Enzo’s voice was quiet, raw. “Maria was right to set me up with someone,” he said suddenly, and the sentence surprised Freya. “Not because I needed a date. Because I needed… truth. The kind that doesn’t let you hide.”

Freya’s breath hitched. “Enzo…”

Enzo looked at her, eyes wet. “When I saw him in your apartment,” he admitted, “it felt like watching Esther drive away all over again. Like the world was choosing someone else over me.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t do that again.”

Freya stepped closer, voice shaking. “I didn’t choose him,” she said. “Not then. Not now. I chose you the moment I understood he was real and wrong. But I needed to end it with my whole chest. I needed to stop living in the maybe.”

Enzo’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry I walked away,” he murmured.

Freya shook her head. “You protected yourself,” she said softly. “I get it.”

Enzo’s eyes held hers. “Do you still mean it?” he asked, voice low. “What you said last night.”

Freya’s breath caught. “I love you,” she whispered, and this time the words felt steady, not panicked. “I love you. And I love Leah. And I’m not asking you to pretend Esther didn’t exist. I’m asking you to let me be here anyway.”

Enzo’s face crumpled. He stepped forward and pulled Freya into his arms like he’d been holding his breath for days. Freya clung to him, shaking, and felt his heart pounding against hers.

“I’m scared,” Enzo admitted into her hair.

“Me too,” Freya whispered. “But I’m here.”

Enzo pulled back just enough to look at her. “We do this slow,” he said, voice firm. “For Leah. For us. No rushing. No pretending.”

Freya nodded, tears slipping down. “Slow sounds perfect,” she whispered.

Enzo kissed her then, gentle and careful, like he was relearning how to touch happiness without fear.

Outside, rain tapped the windows.

Inside, the air felt like it had room again.

Months passed.

Jeremy’s case unfolded in the background like a storm moving away. Freya learned the truth in pieces: fraud charges, debts, lies stacked so high he’d vanished under them. His “protection” story wasn’t entirely invented, but it was twisted, shaped to make him the hero of the mess he’d created.

Freya went to therapy and learned a sentence she’d never said aloud before: I don’t owe closure to someone who chose silence.

Enzo went to therapy too, because grief didn’t disappear just because love arrived. Sometimes grief sat beside love like an old friend who didn’t know when to leave. Enzo learned to stop bargaining with Esther’s death in his mind. He learned to say, I miss you, without adding, and it’s my fault.

Leah adjusted in her own fierce way. She apologized to Freya once, blunt and sincere. “I’m sorry I made you and Dad meet like that,” she said, cheeks red. “I thought I was helping.”

“You were helping,” Freya told her gently. “You just didn’t know the whole world is… complicated.”

Leah nodded like she hated that but accepted it. “I’m still glad you’re here,” she said quietly.

Freya’s eyes filled. “Me too,” she whispered.

On the anniversary of Esther’s death, Enzo took Leah to the cemetery, and Freya came too, standing a respectful distance back at first. The air was cold. The sky was low and gray.

Enzo knelt by the headstone, fingers brushing the engraved name like he was tracing something sacred.

Leah placed a small bouquet of daisies down. “Hi, Mom,” she whispered. “I got an A on my science project. And Dad didn’t burn the cupcakes last week.”

Enzo laughed softly through tears.

Then Leah looked at Freya. “You can say hi too,” she said, like granting permission.

Freya’s throat tightened. She stepped forward slowly, kneeling beside Enzo. “Hi, Esther,” she whispered. “Thank you for them.” Her voice broke. “I’m trying to take care of your people the way you would.”

Enzo’s hand found hers, squeezing.

When they stood to leave, Enzo looked at Freya, eyes wet but calm. “You’re not replacing her,” he said quietly. “You’re adding to us.”

Freya nodded, tears sliding down. “That’s all I ever wanted,” she whispered.

Later that night, back at Enzo’s apartment, Leah fell asleep on the couch between them during a movie, her head on Freya’s shoulder, her hand curled around Enzo’s sleeve. Enzo sat still, afraid to move and disturb the moment.

Freya whispered, “You okay?”

Enzo stared at his daughter’s sleeping face, then at Freya, and the answer came out honest.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I think… I think I’m starting to be.”

Freya smiled, tired and real. “Good,” she whispered.

Outside, Portland rain kept falling like it always did. Inside, a small patched-together family kept choosing each other anyway, even when the past tried to climb back through the door.

And for the first time in three years, Enzo didn’t feel like he was surviving.

He felt like he was living.

THE END