Chapter 7

I rubbed my tired eyes and waved dismissively. "I'm fine, really."

The perceptive shopkeeper offered tissues and a cup of floral tea before tending to their flowers. I sat quietly for a long while, letting my emotions settle. Finally, I chose a bouquet of daisies and prepared to leave.

As I reached for my wallet, the shopkeeper stopped me. "This one's on the house."

I looked at them, confused. They smiled softly, lost in memory. "Miss, I just remembered something Joseph said. He told me someone might come asking about this order one day. 'If she comes alone, give her flowers. Tell her: Keep moving forward; the starlight will light your path.'"

That day, I broke down completely at my mother's grave. I never imagined he would reach out to me like this, never thought I'd still need his comfort after all this time. What must it have taken for him to leave those words with the shopkeeper? I alone understood the meaning of "if she comes alone." It meant he was no longer here.

That evening, my colleague called. "Zoey, your flight's booked for next week." "Who's your insurance beneficiary this time? Your husband?" I shook my head. "Please list Doctors Without Borders."

"Why them?"

I sniffled softly. "Because he was their doctor."

As I stumbled out of the cemetery, I saw Jackson waiting. He looked disheveled, unshaven, exhausted. Wordlessly, he handed me a box. Inside lay a camera—the same model as my mother's. "Couldn't fix the old one."

We stood in silence, staring at each other. I didn't take the box. I didn't care how he'd found me, or where he'd discovered this 1994 camera. What I treasured was already broken. An identical replacement meant nothing.

Seeing my rejection, he rubbed his temples wearily. "Come home. The wedding's next week. Invitations are out. If you keep making trouble, there's no fixing this."

I laughed bitterly. "I'm the—"

He sighed, grabbing my hand. "Zoey, I know you're acting out because you love me. You think I favor her, giving away your—"

But she demanded an apology. I gave her that old camera to get her off your back. You humiliated her publicly—I had to do something."

Looking at him, I felt a flicker of pity. "Jackson, I don't love you."

He froze, then his expression hardened. "Don't lie. If you didn't love me, why look at me like that?"

I chuckled softly, withdrew my hand, and touched his face. "Such a shame… I'll never see this face again."

His expression shifted with dawning realization. "You—"

His phone rang. Sara. He hesitated before answering. Her voice came through, desperate: "Jackson, I'm leaving… I'm sorry for causing trouble. I just… got jealous of her."

"Sara, where are you?"

"Don't come. Go to her. She's your future."

The call ended. Jackson thrust the box into my arms and ran, vanishing down the street. I watched him go and sneered. Lifting the box, I dropped the camera in a nearby trash can. I was leaving too.