You think about that night more often than you admit. The glow of string lights, the salt-thick air, JJ’s laughter in your ear, his hand on your lower back, the ring on your finger still shiny and new.
You thought forever started that night. You were wrong.
Now, a year later, you’re sitting under a pastel balloon arch at your bridal shower—a new ring on your finger. The wrong one.
There’s cake and champagne. Kiara and Sarah flank you like guards, their smiles tight.
“You okay?” Sarah murmurs.
You nod. Too quickly.
“You sure?” Kie adds, eyes narrowing.
“I’m good.” You press a smile onto your face. “Promise.”
But when it’s time for gifts, you pause.
At the bottom of the stack is a plain envelope. No glitter. No ribbon. No name.
You frown. Turn it over.
It’s sealed with red wax. Your heart skips.
“From the groom?” someone teases.
But it’s not.
You open it slowly.
And inside, written in angry black ink across the center of a blank card:
“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”
Your breath catches.
The noise in the room fades. The world tilts sideways.
You drop the card. Sarah grabs your hand. “What?”
You just stare.
Your past has found you.
It’s 1:12 a.m. when the fluorescent lights start humming above your head, louder than your heartbeat, louder than the numbness.
You’re on the bench at the back of the police station, knees tucked into Sarah’s hoodie, mascara smudged under your eyes. Kiara sits on one side of you, Sarah on the other—like bookends. Like barricades.
"Does this make me a widow?" You whine, dried tears staining your cheeks.
"Technically an almost-widow." Sarah speaks in her most gentle voice.
You’re still wearing the ring.
The one he gave you.
Not JJ.
When the door opens, the air shifts.
You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
JJ Maybank.
Your former fiancé.
Your first ring.
The one you never stopped hiding in your drawer, the one that still sits beside your passport and a photo you were too scared to frame.
He walks in like what you had didn't splinter into unfixable pieces after the accident.
Like your entire world didn’t split in half, and he took the better half with him.
You flinch when he says your name.
Soft. Like he’s afraid it might still belong to him.
“...Hey.”
You don’t look up.
You can’t.
Not with mascara streaked down your face. Not with your dead fiance's diamond catching the light on your shaking hand.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper.
He exhales. Steps closer anyway.
“I heard what happened.”
“So did the whole island.”
Silence.
Then—
“You got a note,” he says quietly. “Didn’t you?”
Your throat tightens. You nod.
Sarah shifts beside you, like she’s ready to throw herself between you and him. JJ’s eyes flick to her, then back to you.
“Same handwriting,” he says. “Same words.”
“It’s starting again,” you whisper.
JJ crouches in front of you slowly, gently. Like you’re glass. Or guilty.
“It never stopped.”
You finally meet his eyes. Blue, tired, furious and broken.
The silence hangs heavy between you.
He sees the ring on your finger.
You see the one he’s not wearing.
And neither of you say the thing you’re both thinking.