Page 89 of Somewhere Without You
I nodded quietly.
I watched her as she read, her bright green eyes flicking over the words with quiet reverence.
“That’s wild,”she finally breathed, setting the letters down with care before leaning back against the couch.“I still think there’s a soulmate connection here. But I can’t wrap my head around why the universe would separate you two by centuries.”
“What about his wife?”I asked, motioning to the letter that had started it all.“It’s obvious he loved her deeply. He told me that himself.”
Danielle rubbed her jaw thoughtfully.“Maybe she died before she was supposed to. And instead of bringing her back to him, it brought you.”
“You think the universe got it wrong?”
She shook her head.“The universe doesn’t make mistakes. Its choices are rarely simple, but they’re always purposeful. Maybe this wasn’t about reuniting two people—it was about awakening something in you. Guiding you toward wherever you’re meant to go next.”
I stared down at the letters, my fingers absently tracing the edge of his words.
Dani’s hand reached over to cover mine.“Maybe James was meant to show you a love that transcends time. Not to keep, but to remind you of what’s possible. Of what you deserve.”
She squeezed my fingers gently, like she knew I needed grounding more than comfort.
I stared down at our joined hands for a moment before whispering, “But what if I don’t know how to want it anymore?”
She was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Maybe it’s not about wanting it right now. Maybe it’s about believing youcould. . . someday. Even if it doesn’t feel real yet.”
I didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. There was nothing left to untangle, no answers hidden in the corners of the room or between the folds of the yellowed paper.
Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle, as if even the storm was learning to let go.
Funny how love could live in the spaces between time—yet still die from the weight of so many unsaid things.
Forty Seven
Aloudcrashjoltedme awake. At the foot of the bed, Winston stirred, ears pricked, tail rigid. For a moment, I thought it was just the storm. Rain hammered the roof, and lightning flared behind the curtains, casting fleeting shadows across the room. A sharp roar of thunder rolled in after.
“It’s just a thunderstorm,”I grumbled to Winston.“Go back to sleep.”
I was about to lie back down when I heard it again. The sharp, splintering sound of glass breaking.
Someone was in the house.
Winston sprang from the bed, a low growl rumbling in his throat. I snatched the candlestick from the nightstand and crept toward the door.
Another crash. Followed by the unmistakable sound of something being dragged.
I pictured Jackson downstairs, tearing the house apart, smashing memories with his bare hands—waiting for me in the dark.
My heart pounded in my chest, loud enough that I was sure whoever was downstairs could hear it. I paused at the door, straining to listen. Another thud echoed from below—closer this time. I tightened my grip on the candlestick.
I eased the door open, its hinges groaning. I froze, wincing. The storm outside covered some of the noise, but not enough.
Step by step, I crept down the hallway. Every floorboard felt like it screamed beneath my feet. The hallway ended at the landing, where the stairs curved down into the darkness.
A dim glow flickered faintly below, like candlelight or maybe the broken remains of a flashlight. I leaned over the banister, trying to get a glimpse of the intruder.
Then I caught movement as a shadow shifted across the wall.
“Jackson?”I called out before I could stop myself.
Silence.
