The boathouse was nearly finished. The air was fragrant with roses, the tables sparkled under clean linens, and lanterns glowed softly above. This nearing completion should have been satisfying, but to Ava, it felt as if the walls were closing in.
Smooth, composed, and wearing that same practiced smile, Daniel had a way of showing up when she least expected it. He had returned that morning, reminding her that he "used to know her better than anyone" and offering her coffee without her asking.
The encounter clung to her like a damp fog, even after her firm refusal.
Ethan had witnessed it too, of course. With his camera in hand, he moved silently across the room, making minor adjustments to the light angles. His quiet presence weighed more than words, constantly reminding her of their growing separation.
Ava summoned all her professionalism when the bride visited that afternoon to check on the setup. She promised perfection, smiled, and rearranged the flowers. Ethan silently captured the bride's happiness in gentle, glowing frames without ever turning to face Ava.
By the time the bride departed, Ava's composure was at an all-time low.
"Ethan," she said, walking across the floor.
He continued to work. "Yes?"
"You've been... distant."
His cool, unreadable grey eyes flicked toward her. "I assumed that was what you wanted."
She wasn't prepared for the weight of his words. "I didn't—" She paused and shook her head. "It's difficult."
As if savouring the word, he repeated, "Complicated." After setting down his camera, he turned to face her. "Is Daniel like that? Tricky?"
Ava gasped. "He is not the subject of this."
"I could have been duped." Though his tone wasn't harsh, the hurt beneath it was palpable. "You freeze whenever he's near. Furthermore, when I attempt—" Jaw clenched, he stopped himself. "Never mind."
Ava's heart raced. She wanted to explain everything: the betrayal and the reasons she had built walls so high no one could climb them. But the words were stuck in her throat.
"You don't understand," she whispered instead.
After a long silence, Ethan replied quietly, "You're right. I don't."
As he picked up his camera and left, Ava stood trembling in the center of the room.
That evening, she took a stroll around the harbour in an attempt to decompress. For a few blissful moments, she tried to pretend everything was normal again, as the water glistened in the last rays of light and the sea breeze tangled her hair.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
She stiffened. Daniel stepped out from the shadows near the pier, his smile easy but his presence unwelcome.
"What do you want, Daniel?"
"Only to talk." His tone was smooth and practised. "I know you're angry. You have every right to be. But seeing you again—I can't help but wonder if maybe… if we could start over."
Ava felt her chest constrict. "No," she said firmly. "Whatever we had—it's gone."
He chuckled faintly. "You say that, but I can see it in your eyes. You haven't stopped thinking about me."
"That's not true."
"Then why are you shaking?"
Her hands curled into fists. Before she could respond, footsteps sounded behind her. It was Ethan.
He stopped a few paces away, his expression sharp, his gaze switching between them. To an outsider, the scene might have appeared intimate: Daniel leaning close, Ava's breath unsteady, and the harbour lights casting a soft glow around them.
Ethan's jaw tightened. He gave Ava a long look—a mix of frustration and something that resembled painful disappointment—before turning on his heel and walking away.
Ava's throat burned. "You need to leave," she told Daniel, her voice breaking.
As Daniel faded into the night, the image of Ethan's retreat lingered heavier than anything her ex could have said.
Back at her cottage, Ava pressed trembling fingers against her eyes. The truth was unraveling faster than she could hold it together. Daniel's presence, Ethan's silence, and her own fear collided into a storm she no longer knew how to control.
For the first time in years, Ava Bennett wondered if control had ever been enough.