Two years slipped by in a blur.
Graham never stopped searching for her, but with every passing day, hope thinned to a fragile
thread.
He grew quieter, colder, his warmth stripped away and replaced by a hardened resolve.
Outside of his essential military duties, every moment was spent chasing leads, following trails
that always ended in silence.
Just when despair threatened to consume him, a letter arrived from Harborbend, carrying the faintest glimmer of light.
An old friend, a veteran now working for the city government, had written:
[…Graham, I might be mistaken, but a few days ago I saw a woman on the street. Her profile, the
way she walked–it reminded me so much of your Evelyn.]
[She’s teaching at the community high school here in Harborbend. I wasn’t certain, so I didn’t approach her…]
The paper shook in his trembling hands, the words blurring before his eyes.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he cleared his schedule, took leave, and drove through the night
toward the small southern town a thousand miles away.
After a maze of inquiries, he found the community high school.
Too afraid to get close, he parked his Jeep in a quiet corner across the street and waited, watching from behind the glass like a man haunting the world he no longer belonged to.
When the final bell rang, students and teachers spilled out in clusters, laughing and talking. Then
he saw her.
Evelyn stepped into view, dressed in a simple blue cotton dress and carrying a stack of books.
She walked with a few colleagues, smiling as she spoke. She was thinner now, the softness of her
cheeks replaced by a sharp, elegant line.
Yet her complexion glowed with health, her eyes calm–not the naive dependence he remembered, but a quiet strength, shaped by storms she had endured alone.
When she laughed with her coworkers, the smile that touched her lips was faint but genuine, born
of stability and contentment.
Chapter 15.
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That sight–her thriving without him–cut through Graham like the sharpest blade.
Joy surged through him–he had found her at last. But despair followed just as swiftly: she no longer needed him.
The two emotions clashed within him, tearing at his chest. His grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles blanched, his throat so constricted he couldn’t force out a sound.
He watched her head into the Meridian Reading House for her part–time shift, watched her sort books with practiced ease, answer customers‘ questions with patience, then settle quietly behind the counter, reading under the warm glow of a lamp.
Every moment twisted the knife deeper, yet he couldn’t look away.
He didn’t dare approach.
Regret and fear held him captive. He dreaded what he might see in her eyes–disgust, fear, or worst of all, indifference.
So he lingered at a distance, a shadow on the edge of her world.
Some nights from his Jeep, other times beneath the sycamore at the corner, his gaze clung to her with a mix of hunger and humility.
He picked up smoking, one cigarette after another, his frame growing leaner, his features more
severe.
Only his eyes remained unchanged, burning with pain, regret, and a stubborn flicker of hope that
refused to die.
He knew the debt he owed her could never be repaid.
All he could do was watch from afar, guard her in silence, and wait for a forgiveness that might
never arrive.
Chapter 15
