Page 140 of Steel Beauty

Magnolia wipes at a tear sliding down her cheek, her gaze drifting to the far side of the room. A small, bittersweet smile curves her lips, soft and fleeting. “I have something for you too.”

She crosses the room and fetches a neatly wrapped package, its edges precise, the paper smooth. Picking it up, she walks back and places it in my hands, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t get too excited—it’s not gold or diamonds.”

I shift the gift in my hands, its weight solid, as I meet her eyes. “Whatever it is, I’ll treasure it because it’s from you.”

Her smile falters slightly, turning almost shy as she looks down. “Just… promise me you won’t open it until after I’ve gone.”

The words twist something deep inside me, but I nod, squeezing her hand gently. “If that’s what you want, I’ll wait.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy with the unspoken. Then she steps closer, wrapping her arms around me, her warmth pressing into the ache already building inside. I pull her in tightly, my arms holding her as though I could shield us both from the inevitability of what’s to come.

“I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not ready.”

Her forehead presses into my chest, her breaths unsteady. “I don’t want to go.” The tremor in her words lay bare the truth.

“Then don’t,” I plead, the desperation breaking through, clinging to the hope that maybe she’ll stay. “Don’t get on that plane. Please.”

Her silence fills the space between us, an answer louder than words.

A knock at the door fractures the fragile stillness between us, and Magnolia’s grip tightens, her fingers clutching at my shoulders as though she could hold time itself in place.

I draw in a shaky breath, the ache in my chest growing sharper, heavier. I hold her closer, pressing my forehead gently to hers, desperate to carve out one last moment, one last breath of togetherness.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time—a cruel reminder that the world won’t wait for us. A reluctant sigh escapes my lips as I pull back, reluctant to let her go, even though I must.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I force myself to step away and open the door.

“Good morning…Mr. Sebring?” The bellhop’s polite smile falters slightly when he sees me.

“Come in.”

The young man moves with practiced efficiency, collecting bags with a quiet focus. Each bag he lifts feels like a piece of my life being dismantled.

Magnolia stands a breath away, her fingers brushing against mine in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt through me. I glance at her, but her gaze is fixed on the bellhop, her expression calm yet betraying the sadness pooling in her eyes, the unshed tears she’s fighting to keep at bay.

I look down at her, searching desperately for the right words—anything to make this easier. My hand trembles as I reach out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Remember. This isn’t goodbye. It’s just see you later.”

Her gaze meets mine, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. A fragile smile trembles on her lips. “See you later,” she whispers, the words delicate yet unwavering. They hang between us, a thread to cling to as the distance begins to stretch.

She turns to leave, her steps hesitant, then pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine again, the storm of emotions within her spilling into the space between us. “I’m not good at telling people how I feel. There’s something in me that’s broken when it comes to that. Or maybe I’m too stubborn to let myself be that open.” She swallows hard, her gaze faltering before lifting again. “But I hope my gift shows you what I haven’t been able to say.”

Her words strike deep, raw and honest, each syllable settling heavily in my chest. She gives me one last look, her eyes pleading for me to understand everything she can’t say. Then, the door closes behind her with a soft, hollow thud, the sound reverberating like the final note of a song lingering long after the music fades.

I stand there, frozen, staring at the spot she occupied only moments ago as though some piece of her still remains in the air. The silence presses in, thick and unrelenting, amplifying the ache in my chest until it feels unbearable.

My gaze drifts to the small, neatly wrapped package she left behind on the table. Trembling, I reach for it, brushing my fingers over the paper as though touching it might tether me to her. Slowly, I peel it open, deliberate and careful.

Inside is a journal, soft and weathered. My fingers trace the cover before I open it, my breath catching at what I find inside. The pages are filled with her handwriting—small, intimate notes scrawled in the margins, whimsical doodles, and playlists she’d titled for moments I hadn’t realized she’d marked as special.

Tucked between the pages are photographs—prints of moments she’d captured on her phone. Her laughter frozen in time, my smile mirroring hers, snapshots from places we visited, even candid scenes I’d forgotten. Each page feels like a window into her mind, her heart, her memories—preserving the life we built together in ways I never knew she was holding on to.

I flip through slowly, finding entries that begin on her first day in Sydney before we met, tracing her journey up until now. My thumb skims the edges of the pages, each one a bittersweet piece of her, a memory preserved. The deeper I go, the sharper the ache of her absence, yet the love she’s left behind is undeniable, woven into every detail.

I pause on a page where her handwriting curves softly in the margin, my chest tightening as I struggle to read the words.

Last night at the wedding, when Alex and Tyson had words, I saw something in him I hadn’t fully understood before. It wasn’t just anger—it was pain, raw and real. When he walked away, I could feel the heaviness of it, like it had settled into my own bones. I wanted to take him into my arms, pull him close, and tell him he didn’t have to carry it alone.

That’s when I knew. This isn’t a passing connection or a fleeting attraction. I love Alex. I love him in a way that makes his pain feel like my own, in a way that makes me want to fight his battles if it means he doesn’t have to face them alone.

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