Last Chance

The restaurant was warm and glowing, nestled between ivy-covered buildings, a quiet spot far from the main bustle of Riverbend.

Candlelit tables lined the windows, casting golden reflections on the pavement. Clara stood at the entrance, her dress brushing softly against her legs as she adjusted her clutch and glanced around.

Her heart beat in careful rhythm, calm but alert. She was just in time. 7:58

She stepped inside, the scent of roasted vegetables and herbs greeting her. A hostess with a kind smile met her halfway.

“Reservation name?” the hostess asked.

“Jace,” Clara replied, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “We’re meeting at eight.”

“Right this way.”

The hostess led her to a small table near the window. A single candle flickered between two place settings. Clara took her seat, legs crossed delicately, nerves fluttering like moths in her chest.

She had no idea why the plan to pick her up had changed, but she was sure it was just work stuff.

She waited a while, then began to get impatient

She checked her phone. No new messages. No missed calls.

8:12

The hostess returned with a menu and a glass of water.

“Would you like to wait for your guest before ordering?”

Clara nodded politely. “Yes, thank you.”

She folded her hands in her lap. Exhaled slowly. Smiled to herself.

It had been a long time since she felt the warmth of anticipation. A longer time since she allowed herself to feel hope.

She looked out the window, watching the night take shape outside. Streetlights flickered on one by one. Cars passed lazily by. The stars hid behind a curtain of thin clouds.

8:28

She pulled her phone from her clutch. Still nothing.

Maybe traffic.

Maybe something came up at the pack house. A call. An emergency.

Maybe…

She shook her head lightly. No. He promised. And this time, his promise had sounded different.

She believed it.

She wanted to believe it.

8:51

Her water sat untouched. The candle between the plates had burned down slightly, its melted wax curling in the holder. The server came by.

“Would you like to order a drink while you wait?”

Clara hesitated. “Just another glass of water, please.”

“Of course.”

The server left. Clara pressed her fingers together, staring at the empty seat across from her. She leaned back, glancing toward the door.

Still no sign of him.

No tall frame brushing in with apologetic eyes.

No bouquet.

No “Sorry I’m late.”

Her chest tightened, just a little.

9:00

She reached for her phone. Checked the screen.

Still blank.

She opened her message app. No new messages. No delivered texts. No typing bubbles.

Nothing.

She tapped out a quick message anyway.

Hey. Are you close?

She hit send. Waited. Watched the screen.

Nothing.

She leaned back, folded her arms, then unfolded them again. Her eyes scanned the entrance reflexively every time it opened, but it was never him.

9:12.

A couple was seated two tables away. The woman glanced at Clara curiously, then looked away, whispering something to her date. Clara forced herself to look down, pretending to read the menu.

She didn’t see the words.

Her throat was dry, despite the water.

9:31.

She stood and walked to the restroom.

Inside the quiet, cream-tiled room, she locked herself in a stall and leaned against the door. Her fingers gripped her phone tightly.

She opened her call log.

Tapped his name.

Ring... ring... ring…

Your call has been forwarded to…

She ended the call before the voicemail could begin.

Clara rested her forehead against the wall. The cool surface steadied her.

She wanted to tell herself this wasn’t happening. That something had delayed him. That a reason, any reason, could still justify why she was sitting alone at a restaurant table, dressed up for someone who hadn’t even shown up.

But deep down, she felt it.

The slow descent from hope to fear was complete.

She wasn’t just being stood up.

She was being reminded.

Reminded of the very thing she’d buried deep, the humiliation, the helplessness, the pain that wrapped around her like a second skin on the day of what was supposed to be her wedding.

That day.

That public unraveling.

The guests who stared. The whispers. The empty altar.

The betrayal.

She had patched herself up after that day. Bit by bit. Breath by breath.

But this?

This reopened everything.

Clara closed her eyes, pushing back the sting behind her lashes.

It wasn’t just the absence.

It was the choice.

Jace had chosen this.

He had made her believe in something again, only to leave her sitting alone, waiting, watching, unraveling all over again.

9:49.

She stepped out of the restroom. Her shoulders were straighter, her chin slightly higher, but her eyes, her eyes were quiet storms.

She returned to the table, picked up her clutch, and waved over the server.

“I’ll be leaving now,” she said, voice calm.

“Of course, ma’am. Would you like to leave a note in case your guest arrives late?”

Clara almost laughed.

“No,” she said softly. “He won’t be coming.”

The server nodded sympathetically and stepped aside as she walked out.

The night air bit gently against her skin, and she welcomed it.

Her heels clicked against the pavement, steady and sharp.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Not here.

She made it around the corner before her breath caught in her throat. She leaned against the wall, clutched her clutch to her chest, and closed her eyes.

Jace hadn’t just missed dinner.

He had missed his last chance.

And she had been foolish enough to believe he wouldn’t.