Page 89 of Never After Us
The guys tease me about it.They say I’m always talking about you.They don’t understand that I’ve got a home waiting, not just a house.
Home is you.
That’s the truth I’m brave enough to say on paper even if I can’t say it out loud.
I don’t want you to worry.Most days are quiet.Some are not, but I manage.I think of you singing on the roof for your sisters.I think of your hair slipping out of that ribbon you pretend keeps it tame.I think of how your cheeks heat when you’re embarrassed and how you look at the ground like it betrayed you.
I imagine the day I get off that bus and see you first.I imagine you running into me so hard you knock the wind out of my lungs.I imagine your fingers in my shirt like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you let go.
I imagine growing old with you and telling the story of how we were “just kids” when we became everything to each other.
I know you told me to write the truth, so here it is:
Some nights I’m scared.
Some mornings I’m still scared.
But the piece of my mind that belongs to you ...that part keeps choosing hope.
If anything closes in on me, I’ll outrun it for you.
I promise.
Write soon.Your words remind me why I want my future more than I fear my present.I keep reminding myself that I’m not finished loving you—this is forever.
Always yours,
Thomas
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Mara
My eyes sting before I even reach the signature.I try to blink through it, to stay composed, but the page blurs anyway.A single tear slips into the margin.I wipe it quickly, almost guilty, like the paper might dissolve if I let sadness linger too long.
Alec says nothing.He doesn’t move.Doesn’t try to fill the silence or distract from it.He just stays—quiet, watchful, giving the moment room to breathe, like he understands this isn’t something that needs fixing.
And it shifts me—unravels a part I swear I buried for good.Because I’ve spent years holding myself together under the quiet assumption that no one else would.That emotions should be folded away where no one can reach them.That breaking down is a lonely ritual I’ve learned to carry by myself.
But Alec doesn’t hover or fix or pry.He just refuses to look away, even when grief shows its sharpest edges.
I fold the letter, hands trembling slightly from the pressure building in my chest.
“He felt it,” I whisper, voice rough.“He knew something was coming for him.”
Alec’s jaw tenses, a flicker of emotion passing through him like a shadow.He doesn’t say anything right away.He just breathes slowly, as if choosing the exact right shape for his reply.
“He also knew what he wanted,” he says at last.His voice is low, but not empty.There’s meaning there—heavy, deliberate.“And he wanted it with everything he had.”
I press the envelope to my chest, as if it might help hold all of it—the ache, the longing, the life that never had the chance to unfold.My aunt’s heartbreak.Thomas’s fear.Their hope scribbled in fading ink.
“I don’t know how to carry this,” I murmur.“The dreams they had.The way they held each other together with words.It’s like touching something unfinished.Like standing at the edge of someone else’s life and knowing you’ll never see how it ends.”
My voice breaks, but I don’t cry.Not fully.Just feel that pressure inside me shift—stretching a space I’ve kept closed for years.
Alec watches me.His attention settles across me like a low current, quiet but impossible to ignore.He looks at me like he’s ready to step in if I crack, but not afraid of the mess if I do.
“It’s unfair,” I say quietly, throat tight.“They ...they couldn’t finish loving each other.”
