The following morning, I signed my own discharge papers. Weak and sore, I dragged myself out of the hospital and went straight to the cemetery.
Adrian’s grave.
The moment I saw his name, my strength vanished. I collapsed before the stone, my fingers tracing each carved letter. “I’m sorry,” I whispered through tears. “I’m so sorry.” My voice cracked. “I loved the wrong man. I let myself be deceived. The man who carries your heart is the same one who destroyed you… and me.”
My tears soaked into the soil as though I could somehow bring him back. Exhausted by grief, I drifted into a haze—and felt warmth surround me.
In my dream, Adrian held me. His arms were solid, familiar. He pressed his lips to my hair and whispered softly, You’re not alone.
When I woke, my face was wet with tears. Yet the echo of his embrace lingered, steadying my heart.
I forced myself home, struggling to breathe properly, my chest tight with exhaustion. That was when I saw it.
A massive billboard loomed above the city, lights blazing against the night sky. The headline was impossible to miss:
“Second Chances Taste Sweeter: Dominic Blackwood to Marry Helena Moore.”