Isobel sat on the edge of her bed, the glow of her phone screen still burning in her eyes long after Ryder’s message had gone dark. Her hands trembled, not from shock anymore, but from the weight of it—the truth, the love, the wound that would never fully close. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips to stifle the sob rising in her throat.

By morning, she couldn’t breathe in that townhouse. The walls felt too close, the air too heavy. She threw a bag into her car, tears blurring the ...