The next morning, the air outside was crisp, sharp with the scent of pine and the first whispers of autumn. Ava stood at the window, arms wrapped around her middle, watching golden leaves flutter down from the oak tree like quiet messengers from another time.
She hadn't told Jamie yet. Not fully.
Not about the dream she'd had last night — a vivid, unsettling dream of Luca standing at the edge of the woods behind the cabin, staring at her, a journal in his hand. His eyes hadn't been pleading or angry. They had been... waiting.
And in the distance behind him, a shadow moved. Unclear. Undefined. But watching.
She shook her head.
"Ava?" Jamie's voice broke the silence behind her.
She turned. "Hey."
He crossed the room and gently slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She leaned into his chest, drawing from the warmth of his steady heartbeat.
"You didn't sleep much," he said softly.
"I know."
They stood that way for a long moment before she finally said it.
"I think I need to go there."
Jamie didn't pull away.
"To the cabin?" he asked after a breath.
She nodded.
"I know it sounds crazy. But something's not settled. Not just about Luca.About me. I feel like if I don't see it for myself… I'll always wonder what I missed."
Jamie exhaled slowly. "Then I'll come with you."
She looked up. "Jamie, you don't have to—"
"I want to," he said firmly. "We'll find someone to stay with Thomas. It's just a couple of days. But if this is what you need to do, you're not doing it alone."
Tears pricked her eyes. "Thank you."
Later that morning, June arrived with Clara and a large Tupperware container of homemade banana muffins.
She listened quietly as Ava told her and Hank about the trip.
"You're sure this is safe?" June asked, concern shadowing her features. "That detective said someone else might've been there."
"I know," Ava said. "But the police cleared it for visitors. It's still an open case, but the property owner said I could visit. Just for closure."
Hank glanced at Jamie. "You taking precautions?"
Jamie nodded. "Already booked a small hotel nearby. And I'm renting a car with four-wheel drive. Just in case."
June sighed. "Okay. Then you go. We've got Thomas and Maeve covered."
Clara toddled into Ava's lap, babbling nonsense and patting Thomas with delighted squeals. The innocent distraction soothed Ava's nerves like warm light filtering through fog.
That night, Ava sat on the porch with Jamie, a blanket draped over their legs. Maeve slept in her bassinet, and Thomas was curled on the couch inside with his favorite dinosaur book.
"Do you remember," Ava said quietly, "when we were first falling in love, and we used to take long drives with no destination?"
Jamie smiled. "How could I forget? We'd just park on the side of the road and talk about everything."
She reached for his hand. "I think part of me forgot what it was like to feel uncertain and curious at the same time. Luca stirred that up again. Not in a romantic way… but in a way that made me look at all the paths I didn't take."
Jamie turned to her, his expression tender. "And you still chose this one. With me. With us."
She nodded. "Every day."
Two days later, Ava and Jamie left the kids with June and Hank and headed north. The drive was long and quiet, winding through forest roads that thickened with color the farther they went. Rust and gold leaves spiraled in the wind. The trees grew dense, almost secretive.
As they approached the cabin's coordinates, Ava's chest tightened. She could almost feel the silence waiting for her.
They arrived just before dusk.
The cabin was small and weatherworn, nestled at the edge of a ridge where pine trees rose tall and tight. The front steps creaked as they climbed them, and the door gave a reluctant groan when Jamie unlocked it with the key provided by the local ranger.
Inside was sparse — a wood-burning stove, a cot, a desk, and a chair. Dust coated every surface. A pile of books lay near the desk, still undisturbed. Ava knelt, gently brushing her fingers over the spines.
Poetry. Philosophy. One notebook with Luca's handwriting.
She flipped through the first few pages. It wasn't a journal.
It was a story.
About a man who loved a woman once. Who lost her because he didn't know how to hold love without fear. Who wandered, lost himself in words and woods, and wrote letters he never intended to send.
Some of the entries ended in unfinished thoughts.
If she reads this someday… maybe she'll know that my silence was never meant to hurt her. Only to spare her the jagged edges of me.
Ava blinked hard, a lump forming in her throat.
Jamie knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"I don't think he meant to hurt you," he said softly.
"I know," she whispered.
They spent the night in the hotel, silence wrapping around them like fog. Ava barely slept. She kept picturing the boots outside the cabin, the scratches on the door. She kept wondering if that shadow in her dream had been a memory or something darker still.
By morning, she had made a decision.
"I want to give the notebook to Detective Calloway," she told Jamie over breakfast. "And then… I want to let him go."
Jamie looked at her, eyes steady. "You're ready?"
"I think so."
They returned to the cabin briefly, retrieved the notebook and a few of Luca's scattered letters, then headed south again — toward home, toward Thomas and Maeve, toward laughter and light and the grounded love that had always been hers.
By the time they pulled into their driveway, Ava felt lighter.
June rushed out with Clara on her hip, Thomas bounding close behind, yelling, "Mommy! Daddy!"
Ava knelt and hugged them both tightly.
That night, while June tucked Clara into bed and Hank read Thomas,Jamie held Maeve a bedtime story, Ava sat down and penned her final letter.
But this time, it wasn't to Luca.
It was to herself.