Chapter 1

When the computer screen lit up.

Scott Farley, dead three months, stood inside the game interface in the black suit he'd worn on our wedding day.

Two lines of text floated in the upper left corner.

【Target of Pursuit: Miriam Jenner.】

【Current Progress: 20%.】

I looked at that number, and something in my chest went tight.

So after three years of marriage, he believed he'd only made it twenty percent of the way into my heart.

But when I opened the last log entry, I saw what he'd written.

【Seven years. Tonight I want to ask her if she'll start over with me.】

The timestamp stopped at 17:38.

The exact minute I hung up on his last call.

……

That day I was in a meeting.

When Scott made his last call to me, the phone buzzed twice on the table.

I saw his name, swiped my thumb left, and sent back a single line: talk later.

The police told me afterward that four minutes after that call went out, the car Scott was riding in was hit by an out-of-control freight truck at the freeway exit.

The "later" I'd promised him never came.

The morgue lights were harsh.

Before the attendant lifted the white sheet, he warned me quietly.

"Please prepare yourself."

I thought I was prepared. Until I saw Scott's hand, hanging at his side.

There was still a wedding ring on his finger.

The ring had been crushed out of shape, jammed tight against the base of his finger, its edge stained with dried blood.

I stood there a long time before I reached out and touched his fingertips.

Cold.

Not the cold he used to bring in from outside on winter nights, the chill that made me frown and pull away.

He never pushed it. He would just go wash his hands first, then sit down in the seat farthest from me.

Now he would never warm up again.

"These are all the deceased's personal effects."

The officer handed me an evidence bag. Inside were his phone, wallet, keys, and a box.

"This box was taken from his hand."

The officer paused.

"He was gripping it hard."

I didn't get a firm hold on it, and the box dropped to the table.

The clasp sprang open.

Inside was a necklace.

There was a scratch along the edge of the pendant from the impact, and the back was engraved with our wedding date.

I looked at those numbers, and my first thought, absurdly, was that Scott had gotten it wrong.

Today wasn't our wedding anniversary.

It was the day we'd known each other exactly seven years.

A day we had never once celebrated.

A few days earlier he'd asked.

"Are you eating at home that day?"

I thought he was just confirming the head count for dinner.

"I'll probably have a meeting. Don't wait for me."

He didn't ask again.

The officer handed me his phone separately.

"One more thing. The last call the deceased made before the accident was to you. It didn't connect."

The screen was already shattered, but the call log was still clear.

Four seconds.

It had taken me four seconds to reject his call.

When I walked out of the morgue, it had started to rain.

I stood on the steps and waited a moment, out of habit.

Scott always used to pull the car up as close to the door as he could.

He said the roads were slick in the rain, that wet shoe soles made it easy to slip.

I told him he fussed too much. I even told him I didn't need him to pick me up.

But that day the rain kept coming down harder, and no car ever pulled up in front of me again.

It was only when I got home that I realized I'd been carrying that box the whole time.

The pendant could be opened.

There was no photo inside, only a line engraved on the inner surface.

"Seventh year, and I still haven't learned to say I love you."