As a child, I made a naive pact with my best friend. If by the age of 40, I was still single, I would marry him.
Life went on, pulled us apart, and took each to a different place until, after a devastating divorce and a forced return to my hometown, I found myself dining alone on my 40th birthday.
That’s when someone touched my arm and said, “Sorry, but I had to.”
Hello, my friends. I am Linda, and this is Linda Love Stories. I hope you enjoy this story.
The sound of the alarm clock buzzed faintly in the old room where Olivia had returned to sleep after almost twenty years. She got up slowly, feeling the familiar weight of the walls that held echoes of a younger version of herself.
The room was now a jumble of boxes, old clothes, and furniture that her mother had never had the courage to donate.
While looking for a clean blouse in the tall wardrobe, something caught her attention—a forgotten cardboard box in the upper corner, covered in dust. She balanced on tiptoe and pulled it down carefully, almost dropping it. She sat on the bed and opened the box.
Inside, she found old books carefully stacked, each with page markers made of yellowed paper. Books from her adolescence. Silent companions in a time when being different weighed more than any school backpack.
Olivia looked at the calendar hanging on the wall.
May 15th. Her 40th birthday.
She smiled wryly. Not even her mother had remembered.
Three weeks earlier, she had returned to the small town where she grew up—not out of nostalgia, but out of a lack of alternatives. The devastating divorce. The discovery of her ex-husband’s secret family. The dismissal after fifteen years at the publishing company. The loss of the apartment.
Everything collapsed so precisely, it seemed choreographed.
Now she was back in her youth’s bedroom, transformed into a storage space for memories she preferred not to revisit.
Olivia flipped through the books she’d found, pausing at each bookmark. They were notes from her adolescence, naive reflections on love and destiny.
She closed the book forcefully.
She didn’t need adolescent philosophies now.
The bookstore in her old neighborhood was exactly the same as in her memories—small, cramped, hidden behind the central plaza, with the same bell on the door that announced each visitor.
Olivia had decided to gift herself a book for her birthday. It was a tradition she had maintained since she was fifteen, when she saved her allowance for months to buy a single volume.
The smell of old paper and coffee mixed together, creating a fragrance that instantly transported her to a simpler time. She ran her fingers along the shelves, feeling the textures of the spines, until she stopped in the children’s classics section.
When she reached out for a worn blue-covered book, her fingers touched another hand reaching for the same book.
“Oh—sorry.” She instinctively stepped back.
The man gave a quick smile. He was tall, slim, with a slight beard, and eyes that carried a curious mix of serenity and weariness.
Olivia didn’t recognize him, but something about him seemed familiar—like a song she couldn’t name.
“You can keep it,” the stranger offered, stepping back.
“No, please. I’m sure there are other copies,” she replied, looking through the shelves.
“Actually, I think it’s the last one. I was just reminiscing.”
“This book was important to me as a child.”
Olivia looked at him more closely.
“For me, too. My father used to read to me before…” He stopped, avoiding going down that memory lane. “Anyway, it’s been a while.”
The man nodded as if understanding the unspoken.
For a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something else, but he just smiled and moved away toward another shelf.
Olivia felt an odd familiarity in that smile, but brushed the thought away, convinced it was just the nostalgia of the place affecting her perceptions.
After buying the book, she stepped out into the afternoon air, feeling strangely lighter. Perhaps it was just the ritual fulfilled, or maybe the brief human contact that didn’t involve pity or questions about how she was recovering.
That night, Olivia entered a cozy restaurant—the only place in the small town. She wore a simple dress. It wasn’t a celebration, just a dinner to mark the date.
She ordered a glass of wine and the house specialty, ignoring the waiter who asked if she was waiting for someone.
As she ate, she observed couples and families at other tables, all immersed in their own stories.
She didn’t feel envy—just a curious distance, as if she were observing a different species.
She was finishing her dessert, a small sweet with a discreet birthday candle that the waiter had insisted on bringing, when she felt a gentle touch on her arm.
“Sorry,” a voice said, “but I needed to confirm if it was really you.”
She looked up, confused, finding the same man from the bookstore.
“I’m Benjamin—Ben—from Maple School.”
She blinked several times, trying to connect that image with her school memories.
“The really short one,” he added.
He laughed, and the sound of that laughter unlocked an entire gallery of memories.
“That’s right,” Olivia breathed. “Only now taller.”
Olivia covered her mouth, surprised, and laughed too—genuinely.
“My God. I can’t believe it. How long has it been?”
“Twenty-five years, more or less,” he quickly calculated.
“You look so different,” Olivia noted, remembering the chubby boy who used to carry piles of books and sit alone during recess.
“Life has its ways.” He nodded toward the empty chair. “May I?”
Olivia nodded, and Ben sat down.
“I came back two months ago. My mother needs care—early stage Alzheimer’s.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s life.”
He studied her. “And you? What are you doing here after all these years?”
Olivia hesitated. The full version would be too much for a casual reunion, so she chose the short one.
“Divorce. Job loss. Need to start over. The complete failure package at forty.”
She tried to joke, but her voice faltered on the last word.
“Today?” he asked, noticing the candle on the dessert.
She nodded. “Celebrating my 40th birthday.”
Ben widened his eyes, let out an incredulous laugh, and ran his hand over his face as if he had just realized something unbelievable.
“Oh, no. It can’t be. You won’t believe this.”
“What?”
He took a deep breath, as if confirming to himself that he hadn’t gone crazy.
“Do you remember what you said to me when we were—what? Eight years old?”
“Nine,” she corrected automatically, then frowned. “Ben, I barely remember myself at eight years old.”
He smiled. “You said that if you reached forty single, you would marry me because I was the only boy who knew how to choose good books.”
Olivia covered her face with her hands, mortified.
“Did I say that?”
“You did. I remember because I spent a week thinking I was going to get married.”
She laughed with him. Not a flirtatious laugh, but a lively one—the kind that happens when life surprises you in a way that seems like a joke.
“God, I was a pretentious kid. I think I read too many novels for my age.”
“You were the only one who talked to me in the library,” he said. “While the others played ball, you showed me your favorite books.”
“Now I remember—you had a collection of bookmarks, right?”
“I still do,” Ben said, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. “Saved somewhere.”
The conversation flowed like water. They talked about careers, about their crossed paths. Both had lived in the same big city for years without ever meeting. About how adult life was different from what they imagined as children.
“Did you get married?” he asked after ordering another round of wine.
“Yes. It lasted eight years. We broke up six months ago,” she replied, twirling the glass between her fingers. “And you?”
“Almost twice. But I never made it to the altar.” He shrugged. “I guess I was always afraid of not being enough.”
“I know how it is,” Olivia said softly. “I spent years trying to make up for something I didn’t even know what it was.”
They laughed at the absurdity of their shared insecurities.
“You know what’s funny?” Ben said, looking at the small candle flame on the table. “I remember when you made that pact with me at eight years old. I thought, well, at least when I’m old—at forty—I’ll have someone. Forty seemed so far away, almost mythical.”
“And here we are,” Olivia said, “not that old at all.”
“Speak for yourself. I feel like a dinosaur when my nephews show me any new technology.”
When the bill arrived, both insisted on paying.
“It’s my birthday,” she argued.
“Exactly why you shouldn’t pay,” he countered.
In the end, they split the bill. It was a compromise that seemed to symbolize something greater than just money.
When she left, however, a strange feeling lingered.
Ben felt it, too, but didn’t mention it—because some coincidences are so precise that no one has the courage to call them mere chance.
The next morning, Olivia woke up feeling different. Not exactly hopeful, but perhaps a little less defeated.
She got dressed and went out for a run, something she hadn’t done in months. Her route led her to the town’s small park, where she found Ben sitting on a bench, drawing in a notebook.
“Always drawing,” she commented, stopping next to him.
He looked up, genuinely surprised. “Always running,” he replied with a smile. “Want a coffee? There’s a great café nearby.”
Three days later, they met at the market without planning. A week later, at the old cinema screening at the cultural center. Then at the public library, at the city’s music festival, at the lake’s lookout point.
It was a small town with few attractions, but they kept meeting so often—perhaps because they had similar tastes.
Each encounter felt natural, not forced. Each conversation was deeper than the last.
Olivia began to notice small details. How Ben listened with genuine attention. How his eyes lit up when he talked about any subject. How his hands slightly trembled when he was nervous.
On a rainy afternoon, sheltered on the bookstore’s porch, Ben said, looking at the falling drops, “You know… when time holds our hand and says, ‘Enough with the missed connections.’”
She didn’t respond immediately, but she felt something quiet, deep, moving inside her—a silent acknowledgement.
Two months after the birthday, Olivia received an offer to work as a freelance editor for a digital magazine. It didn’t pay as much as her old job, but it would allow her to work from anywhere.
That same week, Ben received an invitation to design the renovation of an old library in a neighboring town.
That was when they realized something was changing. Not just their professional circumstances, but something between them. A trust. A complicity. A mutual understanding that transcended explanations.
One night, sitting on a bench after coffee, Ben asked, “Do you believe in destiny?”
Olivia, who would have previously mocked the question, answered honestly, “I don’t know. But I believe some people have timing… as if our internal clocks are synchronized. We meet the right people when we are ready to welcome them.”
Ben smiled. “Like a forty-year pact.”
“Something like that.”
Nothing happened that night. Not a kiss, not a declaration—just a comfortable silence that said more than words.
Days later, Olivia started looking for a small apartment to rent. Living with her mother, although necessary for a while, was reaching its limit.
It was Ben who casually mentioned that he had an annex in his house, originally planned as an office, that could be converted into a temporary studio.
“No strings attached,” he emphasized. “Just until you get more settled.”
Olivia hesitated, weighing all the implications.
Finally, she accepted.
On the day of the move—one box of books, two suitcases of clothes, and a potted plant that Ben had given her—Olivia found a package wrapped in brown paper on the small desk in the annex.
Inside was her favorite childhood book, the very same copy from the bookstore, and a simple note:
“Welcome to your new beginning. —Ben”
Nothing happened quickly. Nothing was too romantic. Nothing was perfect.
But it made sense—in the right way, at the right time.
They got married. Both were there, finally connected, like two souls that needed to be together. Like a pact made long ago, kept in the heart of a child, patiently waiting for the world to come full circle to fulfill its silent promise.
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Olivia stared at the ink until it blurred, not because she was about to cry—she was past the kind of crying that came on command—but because the simplicity of it hit her in a place she hadn’t protected. Welcome to your new beginning. —Ben.
For a long moment she didn’t move. The annex smelled like fresh paint and cedar, the kind of clean that didn’t pretend to be something else. A narrow window looked out on Ben’s backyard where a tired swing hung from a maple tree and a wind chime tapped softly, as if someone were trying to speak without interrupting.
She set the book on the desk with reverence, like it was something fragile. The potted plant—little glossy leaves, stubbornly alive—sat beside the package, its soil dark and damp from a recent watering. Ben had carried it out for her himself, cradling it like a promise.
“You okay?” he asked from the doorway.
Olivia turned and found him leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he was waiting for a reaction. He had a T-shirt under an open flannel, paint flecks on his forearm from a morning spent touching up the trim.
“I’m… yeah.” Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “I didn’t expect—”
“I know.” His smile was small, careful. “I figured it might make the room feel less… borrowed.”
She looked around. The annex wasn’t big, but it had everything she needed: a narrow bed with a quilt folded neat at the foot, a tiny kitchenette with a coffee maker that looked like it had been used exactly once, shelves built into the wall for her books, and a desk under the window. No photographs of anyone else. No evidence that she was an intrusion.
“It doesn’t feel borrowed,” she admitted.
Ben nodded, as if that was all he’d wanted. “My mom’s napping. I’m going to start dinner in a bit. You can take your time.”
When he left, Olivia sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the mattress sighing beneath her. She ran her fingers over the book’s worn blue cover. This exact copy. The one from the bookstore. Somehow he’d bought it without her noticing. Somehow he’d known it mattered.
Her throat tightened with something close to gratitude and something closer to fear. New beginnings were dangerous. They asked you to believe you wouldn’t lose everything again.
Outside, the wind chime tapped once more. Olivia took a breath and opened the book to the first page. Inside the front cover, in the same corner where she used to scribble her name as a kid, she saw a faint pencil mark—an old, careful handwriting:
Olivia Hart, Fifth Grade.
Hart. The name she’d had before she’d changed it for someone who’d promised forever and delivered an exit plan instead. She traced the faded letters, and for the first time in months she felt like she was touching herself, not just the wreckage of her life.
That night, dinner wasn’t fancy. Ben made pasta with garlic and lemon, the kind of food that tasted like sunlight even when it was served on mismatched plates. His mother, Eleanor, sat at the small table in the main house, her cardigan buttoned wrong and her hair brushed into a soft halo. She greeted Olivia as if she’d known her for years.
“Oh, there you are,” Eleanor said warmly, taking Olivia’s hands. “Benjamin told me you were coming.”
“I’m Olivia,” she said gently.
Eleanor studied her face, her gaze clear and then suddenly distant, like a radio signal slipping. “Olivia,” she repeated. “That’s a good name. It sounds like… like a song.”
Ben slid a plate in front of his mother and nudged her water glass closer. His movements were practiced, patient. He didn’t correct Eleanor. He didn’t panic. He simply kept the world steady around her.
Olivia watched him and felt something shift. She’d imagined coming back here would mean shrinking, sleeping under the same roof as her mother, becoming an obligation again. She hadn’t imagined being invited into someone else’s life with this kind of quiet care.
After dinner, Ben carried the dishes to the sink. Olivia rose to help, but Eleanor patted her wrist.
“Let him do it,” Eleanor said, conspiratorial. “He likes to be useful. He’s always been that way. Always building, always fixing.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder, half-smiling.
Olivia followed him into the kitchen anyway, drying plates as he washed. The faucet ran. The window over the sink reflected them both—two adults in a small-town kitchen, moving around each other like they’d practiced.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said softly, and she didn’t even know what she was apologizing for. The disruption. The extra work. The fact that she existed.
Ben didn’t look up. “Don’t be.”
“I’m not exactly… easy to house right now.”
He shut off the water and finally faced her. His eyes were steady. “You’re not a stray cat, Liv.”
The nickname slipped out so naturally she froze.
“Liv?” she repeated, smiling despite herself.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. “I almost called you that at the restaurant. I didn’t know if you’d remember.”
“I remembered everything the second you laughed,” she admitted.
Ben’s gaze softened, and for a second the kitchen felt too small for the thing that hung between them.
He cleared his throat and reached for another plate. “Annex is yours. You don’t have to perform being okay in it.”
That line stayed with her.
In the days that followed, Olivia learned the house’s rhythms. Eleanor’s mornings were best—she would wake humming, butter toast with fierce concentration, and ask Ben what day it was as if it were a trivia question. Afternoons were harder. Some days she forgot why she was in the kitchen and stood there with a spoon in her hand, eyes full of confusion she tried to hide. Ben would guide her gently back to the couch, turn on an old movie, and sit with her until her hands stopped trembling.
Olivia started her freelance editing work in the annex, laptop open on the desk beneath the window. The digital magazine’s editor, a brisk woman named Nadine, sent her assignments with no pity, no “How are you holding up?” Just deadlines and track changes and a strange gift: the expectation that Olivia was still competent.
She’d forgotten how much that mattered.
Some afternoons, Ben would knock lightly and hold up two mugs of coffee like peace offerings. They would sit on the back steps, watching the neighborhood go by—kids riding bikes, a dog that barked at the mail truck like it was saving the world, the old man across the street watering his lawn with the devotion of a priest.
“Do people ever get used to being back?” Olivia asked once.
Ben stared out at the maple tree. “You don’t get used to it. You stop fighting it.”
She appreciated that he didn’t lie to her.
Word traveled fast in town. It always had. Olivia could feel eyes on her at the grocery store, in the post office line, at the café where she started going for a muffin and an hour of pretending she had a normal life. She heard her name said softly behind her at the farmers market, the way people speak when they think you can’t hear.
“That’s Olivia Hart,” someone whispered. “Or Camden. I don’t know what she goes by now.”
“She’s living with Benjamin Price,” another voice said. “In his little place behind the house.”
Olivia’s cheeks burned, not because she was ashamed of where she lived, but because she hated that her life was suddenly a small-town story.
Ben seemed to sense it. One Saturday morning, he set down his coffee and said, “Want to take a drive?”
“To where?”
“Anywhere that doesn’t know our names.”
They drove with the windows down, following the road out past the town limits, past fields and low hills, until they reached a river overlook where the water moved slow and brown, carrying sunlight on its surface. Ben parked, and they climbed onto the hood like teenagers.
Olivia tilted her head back and let the warmth hit her face.
“I used to think,” she said, “that if I did everything right, nothing would fall apart. Like life was a math problem.”
Ben chuckled. “And then life said, ‘Nope.’”
“Yeah.”
They sat there for a while. The quiet between them had changed. It wasn’t the tense quiet of strangers. It was the quiet of people who’d run out of pretending.
“Do you ever regret not leaving?” Olivia asked. “After high school, I mean. You could’ve been in… anywhere.”
Ben’s eyes stayed on the river. “I did leave.”
“I know. The city. I meant… leaving for good.”
His jaw tightened just slightly. “My dad left for good.”
Olivia waited. She’d learned not to pull on people’s stories like loose threads.
Ben exhaled. “He wasn’t a villain,” he said. “He just… couldn’t sit still. New job, new town, new girlfriend. Then one day he didn’t come back. He called a month later from Florida and told my mom he’d mailed the paperwork. Like it was a subscription he was canceling.”
Olivia felt the old ache in her chest—the familiar sting of someone treating a shared life like it was optional.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Ben shrugged, but it didn’t erase the bitterness in his eyes. “I spent years promising myself I wouldn’t do that to anyone. And then I started worrying that the only way to guarantee it was to never let anyone rely on me in the first place.”
Olivia looked at him, seeing the boy with piles of books, the man with paint on his arms, the son who steadied his mother with patient hands.
“You’re not him,” she said.
Ben glanced at her. “And you’re not your divorce.”
The words landed softly, but they hit hard.
When they got back, Eleanor was in the backyard, standing too close to the fence as if she were searching for something beyond it. Ben hurried toward her, voice calm.
“Hey, Mom. What’re we looking for?”
Eleanor’s face lit with relief. “Oh, there you are. I thought I lost you.”
Ben took her arm gently, leading her back inside. Olivia watched, a sudden certainty blooming in her: Ben didn’t run. Ben didn’t disappear. Even when things were hard, he stayed.
That made him terrifying.
Two weeks later, the library renovation project began in earnest. The neighboring town’s old library—an aging brick building with arched windows and a stubborn dignity—had been closed for years, its roof leaking and its floors warped. The town council finally secured a grant, and Ben had been invited to design the renovation.
He tried to pretend it was no big deal, but Olivia caught him staring at the invitation letter like it was a lottery ticket he didn’t fully believe he’d won.
“You’re excited,” she said one morning.
Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Am I that obvious?”
“You’re humming.”
He paused, realizing she was right, and laughed at himself. “Okay. Yes. I’m excited.”
Olivia surprised herself by feeling proud. Not in a distant, polite way, but in a personal way, as if his win was somehow connected to her.
Ben invited her to come with him to the library site visit. “If you want,” he added quickly, as if giving her an easy exit.
“I want,” she said.
The library smelled like dust and wet wood. Sunlight cut through the tall windows in beams, illuminating motes that floated like tiny planets. Ben walked through the space with a notebook, pointing, measuring, speaking in the language of possibility.
“We’ll open up the reading room here,” he said, gesturing toward a wall that had once held shelves. “We’ll keep the arches. We’ll restore the original tile if we can salvage it. And we’ll add a kids’ corner—low shelves, beanbags, the works.”
Olivia wandered between the old tables, running her fingers over the carved initials from decades of students. She imagined children sitting here, reading, building private worlds.
“You’re seeing it,” Ben said, watching her.
“I’m seeing what it could be,” she whispered.
Ben smiled. “That’s the whole job.”
Later, as they left, the project manager—a broad-shouldered woman named Carla—shook Olivia’s hand.
“You’re Benjamin’s assistant?” Carla asked.
Olivia opened her mouth to correct her, but Ben said easily, “She’s my friend.”
The word friend should’ve been simple, but it warmed Olivia in a way she didn’t trust.
Summer slid toward fall. Olivia’s editing work grew steadier. Ben’s days filled with plans and site meetings and careful budgeting. Eleanor’s good mornings became less frequent, and Ben hired a part-time caregiver, a kind woman named Denise who arrived in the afternoons and spoke to Eleanor with the patient cheer of someone who knew how to make confusion less frightening.
Olivia found herself staying in the main house more, helping with lunch, reading aloud to Eleanor when Ben was away. Some days Eleanor was sharp enough to tease Olivia.
“You have pretty eyes,” Eleanor told her once. “Benjamin always liked girls with pretty eyes.”
Olivia nearly dropped the book in her lap. “He did?”
Eleanor nodded solemnly. “He pretended he didn’t. But I saw.”
Ben walked into the room just then, overhearing. “Mom,” he warned, but there was amusement in his voice.
Eleanor waved him off. “I’m old, Benjamin. Let me have my fun.”
Ben rolled his eyes and carried a basket of laundry down the hall. Olivia watched him go, her heart thudding like it had tripped.
One crisp September afternoon, Olivia returned from the café to find a car parked along Ben’s curb—a dark sedan that looked too sleek for their street. She slowed, a prickle of unease creeping up her neck.
Ben was on the porch, speaking to a man in a blazer. The man turned as Olivia approached, and her stomach dropped.
Ethan.
Her ex-husband looked different—leaner, older around the eyes—but he wore the same expression he’d always worn when he wanted something. That practiced softness. That confidence that she would accommodate him.
“Olivia,” Ethan said, stepping forward as if they were old friends. “There you are.”
Ben’s gaze flicked to her, questioning. Olivia’s pulse roared in her ears.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice steady by force.
Ethan spread his hands. “I just… I needed to see you. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“You could’ve emailed.”
“I did. You didn’t respond.”
Because she’d filtered his messages into a folder she never opened. Because she’d learned that contact reopened wounds.
Ben spoke quietly. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” Olivia said, not looking away from Ethan. “It’s fine.”
Ethan’s eyes moved to Ben, assessing him like a rival, then back to Olivia. “Can we talk? Alone?”
Olivia swallowed. The town air felt suddenly thin.
Ben’s jaw tightened. “You can talk on the porch.”
Ethan’s smile faltered, just a fraction, and Olivia realized Ben was not the kind of man who smiled his way around discomfort.
Ethan forced a laugh. “Sure. That’s fine.”
Olivia sat on the porch steps, Ben standing beside the railing with his arms crossed, a silent boundary.
Ethan leaned forward, voice low as if intimacy would soften the past. “I made mistakes.”
Olivia stared at him. “That’s one way to put it.”
He winced. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here because I’m… I’m sorry. I know I hurt you.”
“You didn’t ‘hurt’ me,” she said. “You dismantled my life like it was a temporary setup.”
Ethan’s gaze dropped. “I panicked.”
Olivia laughed once, humorless. “You had a second family, Ethan. That’s not panic. That’s a plan.”
Ben’s shoulders stiffened. Ethan’s face flushed.
“It wasn’t like that,” Ethan said quickly. “It started as something that got out of hand, and then I didn’t know how to stop it.”
Olivia felt heat rise behind her eyes. Not tears—rage. “You didn’t know how to stop lying?”
Ethan looked up at her then, desperate. “I’m not with her anymore.”
The words hit Olivia like a slap she hadn’t expected. Ben’s gaze sharpened.
“What are you saying?” Olivia asked.
“I left,” Ethan said. “It imploded. And… I realized I made the worst mistake of my life.”
Olivia’s hands clenched on her knees. “So you came here because you think I’m the backup plan.”
“No,” Ethan said, too fast. “No, that’s not—”
“It is,” Olivia cut in. “You’re lonely, and you’re inconvenienced, and you remember I used to make your life easy.”
Ethan’s eyes glistened. “I loved you.”
Olivia’s voice softened, but it wasn’t kindness. It was clarity. “You loved what I did for you.”
Ethan swallowed. “I need to tell you something.”
Olivia braced herself.
“The apartment,” he said. “The one we lived in. I… I didn’t lose it the way I told you. I sold it. I needed liquidity when everything started falling apart.”
Olivia stared. “You sold our home without telling me.”
“It was in my name,” Ethan said weakly, like that made it better.
Ben made a low sound in his throat, something between disbelief and fury.
Olivia’s vision blurred. She’d thought losing the apartment was a consequence of her life collapsing. She hadn’t realized it was an act.
“I came to tell you because…” Ethan’s voice cracked. “Because I want to make it right. I can give you money. I can—”
“Stop.” Olivia held up her hand. “Do you hear yourself? You’re still trying to solve this with transactions. You still don’t understand what you took.”
Ethan’s shoulders sagged. “Olivia, please.”
Ben stepped forward then, voice flat. “You need to leave.”
Ethan looked at Ben, anger flaring. “This is between me and her.”
Ben didn’t blink. “Not anymore.”
Olivia stood, legs trembling. She stared at Ethan and felt something snap into place, something solid.
“You don’t get to come back here,” she said quietly. “You don’t get to use my hometown as your redemption tour.”
Ethan’s face crumpled. “I’m trying—”
“I know,” Olivia said. “And that’s not my responsibility anymore.”
She turned and walked inside before the tremor in her hands could become visible. Ben followed, closing the door with a finality that felt like a lock.
In the kitchen, Olivia leaned against the counter, breathing hard.
Ben waited, giving her space, until she spoke. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“I’m glad I did,” Ben said.
Olivia looked at him, startled.
He shrugged. “Now I understand why you flinch when someone says forever.”
The kindness in his voice—no pity, no judgment—undid her more than Ethan ever could.
That night, Olivia lay awake in the annex, listening to the quiet house. She tried to convince herself she was fine. Ethan was gone. The past was closed.
But the truth was, her body remembered betrayal the way skin remembered fire. It didn’t matter how rational she was. Part of her still waited for the ground to disappear.
A knock came softly on her door.
Olivia sat up, heart racing.
Ben’s voice came through, gentle. “Liv? Are you awake?”
She opened the door. Ben stood there in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair rumpled, eyes shadowed with concern.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t— I just wanted to check.”
Olivia swallowed. “I’m awake.”
Ben hesitated. “Do you want company? Or do you want to be alone?”
The fact that he offered both options—without offense—made her chest ache.
“Company,” she admitted.
Ben nodded and stepped inside, perching on the edge of the chair at her desk like he didn’t want to take up too much space. Olivia sat on the bed, pulling the quilt over her lap.
They were quiet for a moment.
“I hate that he came here,” Ben said finally, voice tight.
Olivia stared at her hands. “He thinks if he apologizes, the universe rewinds.”
Ben’s laugh was brief and bitter. “My dad used to do that. Disappear, then send flowers like the flowers were the point.”
Olivia looked up. “Did it ever work?”
“No,” Ben said. Then he added, softer, “But my mom always tried to make it work anyway.”
Olivia felt something in her throat. “I’m scared of turning into that.”
Ben’s gaze held hers. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Ben said simply. “Because you’re already doing the harder thing. You’re choosing yourself.”
Olivia’s eyes burned. She blinked quickly.
Ben shifted in the chair. “He sold the apartment,” he murmured, anger flickering again. “That’s not… that’s not a mistake. That’s a choice.”
Olivia nodded, jaw clenched. “I keep realizing my life wasn’t collapsing. It was being… rearranged without my consent.”
Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then let’s build it back with your consent.”
The words were so straightforward they stole her breath.
Olivia managed a small smile. “You talk like an architect even when you’re being comforting.”
Ben’s mouth curved. “Occupational hazard.”
She studied him, and for the first time she let herself consider the shape of what was happening. Not a whirlwind. Not a rescue. Something slow and steady, like a house being built the right way.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Ben nodded once, then stood. “I’m here,” he said. “Anytime.”
As he turned to leave, Olivia spoke before she could think.
“Ben?”
He paused.
“I… I’m glad you didn’t let him talk to me alone.”
Ben’s gaze softened. “Me too.”
After he left, Olivia lay back down, the room still quiet, but the quiet no longer felt like abandonment. It felt like space. Like safety.
October arrived with gold leaves and mornings that smelled like wood smoke. Ben’s library project moved into demolition, careful and methodical. Olivia began to spend more time at the site, not because she was needed but because she wanted to be near the thing he loved.
One afternoon, Carla handed Olivia a stack of old papers pulled from a locked cabinet.
“These were wedged in the back,” Carla said. “Looks like old donation records, maybe some historical documents. Thought you might find them interesting.”
Olivia carried them to a dusty table and flipped through. Letters, receipts, handwritten notes from decades ago. It felt like reading the town’s private diary.
Ben approached, wiping sweat from his forehead. “What’ve you got?”
“Ghosts,” Olivia said, tapping the papers. “The good kind.”
Ben smiled, then leaned down, close enough that Olivia could smell sawdust on his shirt. “I’m thinking of putting up a little display about the library’s history. Would you help me? You’re the word person.”
Olivia’s heart thudded. “Yeah,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’d like that.”
They worked side by side, Ben building new frames and Olivia writing captions, trying to capture meaning in a few lines without turning it into a lecture. Sometimes Ben would read what she wrote and hum thoughtfully.
“You make things sound like they matter,” he said.
“They do matter,” Olivia replied.
He glanced at her, eyes warm. “See? That’s why I asked you.”
The work gave them an excuse to be close without naming what closeness meant. They grabbed lunch together, sitting on the library steps with sandwiches wrapped in paper. They talked about books, about the ridiculousness of adulthood, about the way their bodies felt different at forty than they did at twenty-five.
One afternoon, rain started suddenly, slapping against the pavement. Workers ran for cover. Ben and Olivia ended up under the library’s awning, shoulder to shoulder, watching the street turn glossy.
“This is like that day at the bookstore,” Ben said, voice thoughtful.
Olivia smiled. “Except now you’re covered in drywall dust.”
“And you’re not pretending you don’t need anyone,” Ben said softly.
Olivia’s smile faltered. The rain made a curtain between them and the world. Her heart felt too loud.
Ben looked at her, then away, as if giving her room to disagree. “Sorry,” he murmured. “That was—”
“It was true,” Olivia said, surprising herself.
Ben’s gaze returned to hers, slow and cautious.
Olivia’s breath caught. She could feel the edge of something tipping.
A car splashed through a puddle, breaking the moment. Ben exhaled, almost laughing at how easily the world interrupted.
“Want to get coffee after this?” he asked, voice deliberately casual.
Olivia nodded. “Yeah. I want that.”
They went to the café on Main Street, the one with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu that never had the same spelling twice. They sat in the corner booth, steam rising from their mugs.
Olivia watched Ben stir his coffee absentmindedly, the spoon clinking against ceramic.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
Ben looked up. “Always.”
“Why didn’t you ever call me?” she asked. “When we lived in the city. We were in the same place for years. And yet…”
Ben’s expression shifted, something tender and regretful. “I thought about it,” he admitted. “More times than I can count.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Ben set down the spoon. “Because I didn’t want to show up in your life and find out you were happy without me.”
Olivia blinked. “Ben—”
“I know that sounds selfish,” he rushed on, cheeks coloring. “But I kept imagining you with someone, a career, a life, and me calling like a ghost from elementary school. I didn’t want to be… an interruption.”
Olivia’s chest tightened. “You wouldn’t have been.”
Ben’s gaze dropped. “I’m not brave in the ways people assume,” he said quietly. “I can walk onto a construction site and argue with a contractor twice my size, but I can’t—” He stopped, swallowing. “I couldn’t handle being rejected by someone who mattered.”
Olivia stared at him, seeing the boy with bookmarks and the man who still trembled when he was nervous.
“Ben,” she said gently, “I’ve been rejected enough for both of us.”
He looked up then, and his eyes were raw. “I know.”
The air between them felt charged, not with fireworks but with honesty. Olivia’s hands tightened around her mug.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
Ben’s expression softened. “Of what?”
“Of wanting something again,” she said. “Of letting myself believe I can have a good thing and not lose it.”
Ben nodded slowly, as if he understood intimately. “Me too.”
They sat there, quiet, letting the fear exist without letting it win.
As fall deepened, Olivia’s mother began to show up more at Ben’s house. At first, Olivia thought it was a polite obligation, her mother checking on her, hovering with concern disguised as criticism.
But one evening, while Ben was upstairs helping Eleanor get ready for bed, Olivia found her mother in the kitchen, studying the annex door.
“You’re really living here,” her mother said.
Olivia braced. “Yes.”
Her mother sighed. “People are talking.”
Olivia’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Her mother looked at her then, eyes tired. “I’m not saying that to shame you,” she said quietly. “I’m saying it because I remember what it’s like to live in a town that thinks it owns your story.”
Olivia blinked, surprised.
Her mother folded her hands on the counter. “Your father and I… we weren’t always stable,” she admitted. “We hid a lot. We thought if we hid it well enough, it wouldn’t be true.”
Olivia’s throat tightened. She’d never heard her mother speak like this.
“You’re allowed to start over,” her mother said, voice rough. “Even if it makes people uncomfortable.”
Olivia swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Her mother’s eyes flicked toward the stairs where Ben’s footsteps could be heard. “Benjamin’s a good man,” she added.
Olivia’s cheeks warmed. “He is.”
Her mother hesitated, then said, “Just don’t disappear into someone else’s house. Make it your choice.”
Olivia nodded. “It is.”
Her mother left soon after, and Olivia stood in the kitchen feeling strangely lighter. It was the closest thing to approval she’d gotten in years.
In early November, Eleanor had a good day. She woke clear-eyed and asked Ben if they could go for a walk downtown. Denise was off, and Ben looked exhausted, but he didn’t hesitate.
Olivia offered to come. Ben nodded gratefully.
They walked slowly, Eleanor holding Ben’s arm, Olivia on the other side. Eleanor wore a coat with a scarf tucked into it, and she stared at the storefronts like she was seeing them for the first time.
They passed the bookstore, and Eleanor paused, squinting at the window display.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Books.”
Ben smiled. “Want to go in?”
Eleanor nodded eagerly.
Inside, the bell chimed, and the smell of old paper wrapped around them like a familiar blanket. Eleanor ran her fingers along the shelves, murmuring to herself.
Olivia watched, heart aching. Eleanor’s joy was so genuine, so simple, it made the loss sharper.
At the children’s classics section, Eleanor stopped and reached for a worn blue-covered book.
Olivia’s breath caught.
Ben watched too, eyes wide.
Eleanor pulled the book free and smiled like she’d found treasure. “This one,” she said.
Ben’s voice went quiet. “That’s… that’s the one Dad used to read to me.”
Eleanor looked at him, confusion flickering. “Did he?” she asked, then smiled again. “Well, then it’s yours.”
Ben took the book with careful hands, as if it might crumble. His eyes shone.
Olivia felt tears prick, and she didn’t fight them this time.
On the way out, Eleanor stopped at the counter and looked at the cashier, a young woman with bright earrings.
“Do you have bookmarks?” Eleanor asked.
The cashier smiled. “We do.”
Eleanor selected a pack of simple paper bookmarks with little stars printed on them. She handed them to Ben.
“For your books,” she said.
Ben’s voice broke. “Thanks, Mom.”
Eleanor patted his cheek. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
They walked home in silence, the kind that held weight.
That night, after Eleanor fell asleep, Ben stood in the kitchen holding the bookmarks, staring at them like they were sacred.
Olivia stepped closer. “That was a good day.”
Ben nodded, swallowing. “They’re rare now.”
Olivia hesitated, then reached out and touched his arm. “I’m glad you let me be here for it.”
Ben looked at her, eyes full. “Me too.”
He didn’t move away from her touch. If anything, he leaned into it slightly, like he’d been hungry for contact and didn’t want to admit it.
Olivia’s heart pounded.
Ben’s voice came out rough. “Liv… I don’t want to push you. I don’t want to—”
“You’re not pushing,” Olivia whispered.
Ben stared at her, a question in his eyes.
Olivia felt the fear rise—what if she misread this, what if she reached and he pulled away, what if she lost even this steady friendship—
Then she thought of Ethan showing up like the past could be rearranged. She thought of Eleanor’s hands on the books. She thought of the way Ben stayed.
Olivia lifted her chin. “I don’t want to keep pretending this is only friendship,” she said, voice trembling but honest.
Ben’s breath caught.
“I’m terrified,” Olivia added quickly. “But I’m more terrified of waking up one day and realizing I didn’t let myself have something good because I was busy protecting a wound.”
Ben’s eyes softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased like a knot loosening.
He stepped closer, slowly, giving her every chance to retreat.
Olivia didn’t.
Ben’s hand lifted, hovering near her face. “Can I—?” he asked, voice barely there.
Olivia nodded.
Ben cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing her skin like he was memorizing it. And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a movie kiss meant to prove something. It was quiet, careful, and devastating in its simplicity. A kiss that felt like permission.
When they pulled back, Olivia’s forehead rested against his. She breathed, shaky.
Ben laughed softly, incredulous. “I’ve been waiting twenty-five years,” he murmured.
Olivia’s eyes filled. “You didn’t have to wait that long.”
Ben’s thumb brushed her cheek again. “Maybe I did,” he said. “Maybe I needed to grow into someone who could hold you without breaking.”
Olivia swallowed, heart aching in the best way. “And I needed to break before I could stop pretending I didn’t need anyone.”
They stood there in the kitchen, the house quiet around them, Eleanor asleep upstairs, the world outside moving on.
Nothing felt rushed. Nothing felt like a promise that would collapse. It felt like a step. A real one.
After that night, they didn’t suddenly become a couple in the way town gossip would imagine. There were no grand declarations, no immediate merging of lives. They moved slowly, as if speed would scare the fragile thing they’d built.
Ben still slept in his room in the main house. Olivia still slept in the annex. But sometimes, on evenings when Eleanor was calm and the day had been long, Ben would sit with Olivia in the annex, legs stretched out, reading while she edited. Sometimes he would brush his fingers over her hand on the desk as he walked past, and the small intimacy would make her whole body hum.
They told Eleanor gently, not as a confession but as a fact. Eleanor smiled, confused, then delighted.
“Oh,” she said. “Good. I always liked Olivia.”
Olivia laughed, relief flooding her.
At Thanksgiving, Olivia’s mother insisted they come to her house for dinner. Olivia nearly refused out of habit, out of fear of awkwardness. Ben looked at her and said, “We’ll go if you want. Or we won’t. It’s your call.”
Olivia chose to go.
Her mother’s dining room smelled like roasted turkey and cinnamon. The table was set with mismatched plates that had been in the family for decades. Olivia’s mother tried to be stern, tried to maintain her usual control, but her eyes softened when Ben complimented the food and helped clear plates without being asked.
After dinner, Olivia found her mother in the kitchen, drying a dish.
“You’re happy,” her mother said quietly.
Olivia blinked. “I don’t know if I’m—”
Her mother cut her off. “You are.”
Olivia felt tears sting again. “I’m trying to be.”
Her mother nodded. “Keep trying.”
When they returned to Ben’s house that night, Olivia stood in the cold air on the porch, breathing in the scent of fallen leaves.
Ben stepped behind her, wrapping a sweater around her shoulders. “You did good,” he murmured.
Olivia leaned back into him. “We did.”
December brought early darkness and a soft layer of holiday lights across Main Street. Ben hung a single strand of white lights along the porch, nothing flashy. Eleanor watched from the window, smiling as if the lights were magic.
Olivia found herself editing essays about hope and winter and small-town traditions, and for the first time those themes didn’t feel like clichés. They felt real.
One evening, Ben came into the annex holding a small box.
Olivia’s heart leapt. “Ben—”
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s not what you think.”
Olivia exhaled, embarrassed. “Okay.”
He opened the box and revealed a set of simple metal bookmarks, each engraved with a tiny star. “For your books,” he said, echoing Eleanor.
Olivia’s throat tightened. “They’re perfect.”
Ben’s gaze grew serious. “I know you’re rebuilding,” he said. “And I don’t want to be another structure you build yourself around. I want to be… part of it. With you.”
Olivia swallowed. “I want that too.”
Ben nodded, relief flickering. “Good.”
On Christmas Eve, Eleanor had a restless night. She wandered downstairs, confused, calling for someone who wasn’t there. Ben guided her back to the couch, wrapping her in a blanket, speaking softly. Olivia sat with them, holding Eleanor’s hand, humming along when Eleanor started to sing a half-remembered carol.
Ben’s eyes met Olivia’s over his mother’s head, gratitude and exhaustion in equal measure.
In that moment, Olivia realized love wasn’t the dramatic thing she’d once believed it was. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a perfect plan. It was staying up at two in the morning, holding someone’s hand through confusion. It was choosing to be there even when nothing was easy.
When Eleanor finally fell asleep, Ben and Olivia sat in the dim living room, the Christmas tree lights blinking softly.
Ben rested his head back against the couch. “I’m scared,” he admitted.
Olivia’s hand found his. “Of what?”
“Of losing her,” he said. “Of waking up one day and she doesn’t know my name.”
Olivia squeezed his hand. “I can’t fix that,” she said softly. “But I can be here.”
Ben turned his head toward her, eyes wet. “You already are.”
They didn’t kiss that night. They didn’t need to. The closeness was enough.
After the holidays, Ben received an email that made his face go pale when he read it. Olivia noticed immediately.
“What is it?” she asked.
Ben swallowed. “A firm in the city. They saw my library proposal online. They want me to interview for a position.”
Olivia’s stomach tightened, not with jealousy but with fear. “That’s… huge.”
Ben nodded, eyes conflicted. “It’s everything I thought I wanted when I was younger.”
“And now?”
Ben looked at her, helpless. “Now I don’t know.”
Olivia forced herself to breathe. This was the test. Not of love, but of whether she could hold it without trying to control it.
“Go to the interview,” she said.
Ben stared. “Liv—”
“Go,” she repeated. “If you don’t, you’ll resent staying. And I won’t be the reason you shrink your life.”
Ben’s eyes shone. “You’d be okay?”
Olivia’s voice trembled, but she meant it. “I’ll be scared. But I’ll be okay. Because this isn’t the kind of love that demands you trade your dreams for security. That’s not what we’re building.”
Ben exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for months. “God,” he whispered. “You’re brave.”
Olivia laughed softly. “I’m terrified.”
“Same thing,” Ben said.
Ben went to the city for the interview in late January. Olivia stayed behind, working, caring for Eleanor with Denise, trying not to spiral into old fears. At night, she paced the annex, resisting the urge to text him every hour.
When Ben returned two days later, he knocked on her door and didn’t wait for her to answer. He stepped inside with a grin that looked almost foreign on his tired face.
“They offered it,” he said.
Olivia’s heart dropped and lifted simultaneously. “Ben—”
He shook his head. “I didn’t take it.”
Olivia stared. “You didn’t?”
Ben exhaled hard. “I went there thinking I’d feel… validated. Like finally, the world would confirm I’m good enough. But the whole time, all I could think about was Mom. And you. And the library. And the fact that the life I want isn’t in a glass building with a salary that makes everyone impressed.”
Olivia’s eyes filled. “Are you sure?”
Ben nodded, gaze fierce. “I’m sure. I’m choosing this. Not because it’s easier, but because it’s real.”
Olivia stepped closer, trembling. “I don’t want you to choose me out of obligation.”
Ben cupped her face gently. “I’m not choosing you as a sacrifice,” he said. “I’m choosing you as a partner.”
Olivia’s breath caught. She nodded, tears falling this time, and Ben kissed them away like they were just another part of being human.
Winter thawed slowly into spring. The library’s renovation progressed, the new reading room taking shape. Olivia’s magazine work grew into a steady contract, and Nadine began assigning her more feature pieces, trusting her voice.
One afternoon in March, Olivia received an email from a larger publication—an offer to lead a new book review column remotely. It was more money, more visibility, and the kind of professional recognition she’d once thought she’d lost forever.
She stared at the email, hands shaking.
Ben came into the annex, saw her face. “What happened?”
Olivia turned the laptop toward him.
Ben read, then looked up with a grin. “Liv.”
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Olivia whispered.
Ben’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes, you can.”
Olivia shook her head, tears threatening. “What if I fail again?”
Ben crouched beside her chair, eyes steady. “Then you fail. And you’re still you. And you still have a life. Failure doesn’t get to be the end of your story.”
Olivia swallowed hard. “When did you get so wise?”
Ben smiled. “When I met you again.”
Olivia accepted the job.
In April, Eleanor had a string of hard days. She forgot the house. She forgot Denise. She forgot the new lights on Main Street. One afternoon, she grew agitated, insisting she needed to go “home,” even though she was home. She tried to walk out, coat half on, eyes wild with panic.
Ben’s hands shook as he tried to calm her. “Mom, you’re safe.”
Eleanor pulled away, crying. “Where is my Benjamin?” she demanded. “Where did you put him?”
Olivia’s heart clenched. Ben looked like someone had punched him.
Olivia stepped forward slowly, lowering her voice. “Eleanor,” she said gently. “Benjamin’s here. He’s right here.”
Eleanor stared at Olivia, breathing hard. “I don’t know you,” she whispered.
Olivia nodded, not offended. “That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to know me. You just have to know you’re safe.”
Eleanor’s eyes darted, searching.
Olivia reached for the worn blue book on the coffee table—the one Eleanor had picked up in the bookstore. She opened it and turned to the first page, reading aloud.
The words were simple, familiar. Eleanor’s breathing slowed. Ben’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Eleanor’s gaze softened, as if the story had anchored her. She whispered, “My Benjamin.”
Ben’s eyes filled. “I’m here, Mom.”
Eleanor leaned into his arms, exhausted. Ben held her, eyes closed, his face pressed into her hair like he was trying to memorize her.
Olivia stood beside them, reading softly until the panic left the room.
After Eleanor fell asleep, Ben sat on the floor, back against the couch, staring at nothing.
Olivia sat beside him, shoulder touching his.
Ben’s voice was hoarse. “One day she won’t come back from that.”
Olivia swallowed. “I know.”
Ben’s laugh was shaky. “How do people do this?”
Olivia leaned her head on his shoulder. “One day at a time,” she whispered. “That’s all anyone ever does.”
Ben turned his head and kissed the top of her hair, a quiet thank you.
In May, almost a year after Olivia’s fortieth birthday, the library held a soft opening. The building smelled of fresh wood and paint and possibility. Sunlight poured through restored windows, illuminating new shelves filled with books. Children ran through the kids’ corner, laughing as if the space had always belonged to them.
Olivia stood near the entrance, watching, heart full.
Ben came up beside her, hair still damp from a rushed shower, his hands smudged with sawdust because he’d been fixing a last-minute issue with a shelf.
“You did it,” Olivia whispered.
Ben shook his head. “We did it.”
Olivia smiled. “I wrote the plaques. That’s not the same as building a library.”
Ben looked at her, eyes warm. “You brought it to life.”
They walked through the reading room together. Carla hugged Ben so hard he laughed. Denise arrived with Eleanor, who looked confused but calm, her hands clasped around a small paper bookmark with stars.
When Ben introduced Eleanor to Carla, Eleanor smiled and said, “Benjamin builds beautiful things.”
Ben’s throat worked, and he nodded quickly, hiding the emotion by adjusting his sleeves.
Later, as the crowd thinned, Ben led Olivia up to the balcony that overlooked the reading room. It was quiet up there, the sounds below softened by distance.
Olivia leaned on the railing, looking down at the space.
“This is what it feels like,” she said, “when something doesn’t end in loss.”
Ben stood beside her, hands in his pockets, gaze on her face. “Liv,” he said softly.
Olivia turned.
Ben took a breath that looked like courage.
“I know we’ve been moving slow,” he said. “And I know you’re still healing. And I know my life is… complicated.” He nodded toward the room below, where Eleanor sat with Denise, smiling at a child’s drawing like it was art. “But I don’t want slow to become avoidance.”
Olivia’s heart pounded. “Ben—”
He pulled something from his pocket—not a ring box, not yet, but a small folded paper.
He handed it to her.
Olivia unfolded it and saw a bookmark. Not the metal star ones, but a paper one, handmade, the edges trimmed carefully. On it was written in Ben’s neat handwriting:
May 15th. Forty. Still single.
Then, beneath it:
Sorry, but I had to.
Olivia laughed, breathless, tears spilling. “You made me a bookmark?”
Ben’s eyes crinkled. “You always did like dramatic symbolism.”
Olivia pressed the bookmark to her chest. “Ben…”
He reached for her hands. “Marry me,” he said simply. “Not because of a pact. Not because we owe anyone anything. Marry me because I want to wake up and keep choosing you for the rest of whatever time we get.”
Olivia’s throat closed. She stared at him, the man who stayed, the boy who remembered, the adult who didn’t ask her to be less.
Her fear rose, reflexive, but it didn’t win.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Ben’s breath left him like relief. He laughed, shaky and joyous, and pulled her into his arms. Olivia hugged him hard, and for a moment the world below blurred into nothing but warmth.
They didn’t tell the town immediately. Not because they were hiding, but because Olivia wanted one private moment that belonged only to them.
That night, in the annex, Ben sat at her desk while she opened the worn blue book and slid the handmade bookmark between its pages.
“Do you feel weird?” Olivia asked.
Ben smiled. “Like I’m going to wake up and it’ll be a dream? Yes.”
Olivia nodded. “Me too.”
Ben reached for her hand. “Then we’ll keep waking up and choosing it,” he said.