I still wore the ring.

Not out of habit—God, no. Out of something worse. Denial, maybe. Or hope, the kind that eats at you when you're alone in a quiet house, looking at the side of the bed that’s been cold for months.

He showed up without warning, like he always used to. Like he still had the right.

Teddy stood just inside the doorway, his hat in his hand, the same soft sorrow in his eyes that had always undone me. He looked tired—weathered—but still so painfully him.

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” he said quietly.

I shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Silence stretched between us. The kind that’s too loud. The kind that carries years of words never said.

He stepped in further, hesitating near the table like he didn’t know if he belonged here anymore. Truth is, I didn’t know either.

“I didn’t come to make things worse,” he said, voice soft. “Just… couldn’t go another day without seeing you.”