Chapter 27: After the Sun

The rain hadn’t let up all morning. It tapped rhythmically against the wide windows of Faith and Paul’s townhouse in West London, matching the heavy quiet that had settled over the house. The soft gray light that crept through the curtains felt cold and listless, casting a subdued hue over the once-bright living room.

Paul sat by the window, coffee cooling in his hands, eyes distant as he watched the drops streak down the glass. Behind him, Faith curled up in the corner of the oversized sofa, wrapped in one of Paul’s old sweaters, her legs tucked beneath her. The TV was on, muted. Neither of them had the energy to turn it off. The silence between them wasn’t strained—it was just ... empty.

Three months. That’s how long it had been since Kacie left.

Paul’s thoughts wandered to that last morning at the cabana, the warm glow of the tropics still clinging to the air. Faith had been the first to stir, stretching under the soft sheets, her hand reaching instinctively for Kacie—only to find a cool, empty space.

He remembered the way her voice cracked when she called for her. The rising panic in the quiet of dawn. The rustling of covers as she slipped out of bed, the sound of her bare feet padding across the room.

And then the cry. A raw, aching sound that brought Paul instantly awake.

He had found her standing by the patio door, the early light casting a pale glow over her bare shoulders. In her hands was the note. Folded once, edges slightly wrinkled. The ink on the page had smudged in places—tears, no doubt, shed by the hand that had written it.

Faith had read it aloud in a shaky voice:

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave this way, but I’m scared. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I don’t know how to handle it. You’ve both been so good to me, so kind, so open. Too perfect. I’m afraid if I stay, I’ll fall even harder ... and what if that’s not real? I need to go. I need time. Please don’t hate me for leaving this way. I promise I’ll reach out. I just need to figure out what I’m feeling first. I love you. I think I love you. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Paul had tried to hold Faith then, but she shook in his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. He’d never seen her like that—so hollowed out, so lost.

They’d gone to the front desk, asked questions, called around. But no one at the resort knew where she had gone. No bags left behind, no airport transfers booked under her name. She’d vanished in the night.