The results were in.
Lucien sat in the quiet of Dr. Keene's office, the envelope sealed between his fingers like a verdict waiting to be read aloud.
But he didn't open it.
Not yet.
Not today.
He had something else planned.
That Evening – The Cabin by the Sea
Aveline had nearly forgotten about the little cabin.
Tucked away on the cliffs beyond Saint Remy's shoreline, it was once their sanctuary—a place they escaped to during rainy summers and hard winters. No cell service. No neighbors. Just the sea and silence.
When Lucien blindfolded her and drove without giving her a clue, she hadn't expected to find this memory waiting.
As the car stopped, he opened the door and whispered, "You said you'd marry me here one day."
She turned to him slowly. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything about you, Aveline."
Inside the Cabin
The scent of aged pine and sea salt filled the warm air. The old fireplace still worked. Soft throws rested across a loveseat. The same chipped tea mugs sat by the windowsill.
"I didn't even know you still had the keys," she murmured, stepping inside.
"I never let them go."
Her heart swelled. The sunset was dying gold across the windows, and something about the way he looked at her—soft, reverent, filled with wonder—made her feel as if the world outside didn't exist.
Lucien walked to her, slowly.
No words.
His hands found her waist.
Hers slid up his chest, fingers trembling like a violin's bowstring.
Their mouths met before breath could steal the moment.
But this time, there was no urgency. No fear of losing what they'd just found.
This time, it was coming home.
The Intimate Moment
Lucien's lips moved along her jaw, to the hollow of her throat, whispering her name like a vow between each kiss. His fingers curled into the hem of her sweater, slowly lifting it, eyes asking permission with every breath.
Aveline answered by kissing him deeper.
They fell together onto the old bed tucked near the fireplace, moonlight and firelight dancing across their bare skin. His touch was reverent—like he was memorizing her all over again. Like he couldn't believe he was allowed to love her twice.
And she? She traced every scar of time with her fingertips, kissed the curve of his shoulder where she once wept after his funeral, and whispered promises into his chest like a prayer.
Their bodies moved slowly at first—each touch a question, each sigh an answer.
Then faster, as memory gave way to now.
No longer ghosts of what once was—but people, alive, breathing, aching.
Together.
Time didn't stop.
But it folded.
In that moment, she wasn't the woman who had buried him.
He wasn't the man who had died.
They were simply lovers who had found each other again.
And it was everything they had lost—and everything they still had left to claim.
After
They lay tangled in the afterglow, her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart like it was the rhythm of a new life being written.
"I needed this," he murmured. "Not just the touch. You. All of you."
"I'm yours," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Then I guess I better start building the life we never got to finish."
And somewhere, just beyond the window, the sea whispered back.