"Six years," Allison mumbled. "...and now I'm breathing the same air as him."
Anna stood beside her, stretching her arms with a dramatic sigh that drew glances from passing travelers.
"Whoa," Anna breathed, her eyes darting from the towering glass ceilings to the massive flags hanging from the rafters. "So this is what an American airport smells like."
Allison managed a small, shaky smile. "Well, welcome to my hometown!"
For her parents, this was a homecoming. But for Allison—and Anna—this was something else.
A quiet, careful plan to surprise Devin.
Across town, the heat pressed down heavily—but for Devin, the air felt heavy for a different reason.
When the doorbell rang, he lunged for the gate, his heart skipping in a way he would never admit.
He swung it open.
"Delivery for Mr. Ben Austin."
Devin's shoulders dropped.
"Yeah." He scrawled his name across the electronic pad before dragging the gate shut.
The metallic clank echoed his disappointment.
Not the letter he was hoping for.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang again.
This time, he didn't rush.
Another package.
Another sigh.
He collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this day."
Ben appeared from the hallway, noticing his nephew's mood. He sat across from Devin on the living room couch.
"What's the matter? You seem down."
"Uncle," Devin asked suddenly, "why are you still single?"
Ben chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, that's a long story. But to make it short... just call me the man who couldn't move forward."
Devin nodded, as if he understood the weight of those words. "So you've been in love with someone before? But—"
"Yes." Ben's expression grew distant. "We didn't end up together. Her parents didn't think I was good enough. I was young, still dependent on my own family, not capable of providing for her. But love doesn't care about age or circumstances." He paused, his voice growing quieter. "No matter how hard we fought for it, one day she just... disappeared from my life."
Devin waited, sensing there was more.
"Years later, I found out she had a daughter," Ben continued, his eyes fixed on something far away. "I found out she was happy. That she had moved on."
"That's..." Devin struggled for words. "That sounds tragic. No wonder you haven't moved on yet."
"What choice do I have?" Ben replied softly.
"Right," Devin said quietly.
Ben looked at his nephew with sudden intensity. "I know this reminds you of Allison, Devin. But listen to me—if you really love her, you have to fight for her. Promise me you won't make my mistake. I don't want to see you in twenty years, grieving for someone who's alive and living without you."
Devin went speechless. His gaze fixed on nothing, but his mind couldn't stop thinking about Allison—about the promise they'd made, about the six years that still stretched ahead of them.
The three-car convoy pulled up to the Ainsley mansion as the afternoon sun began its descent. The mansion rose from the manicured lawns like something from a Gothic novel—all white columns and sprawling verandas, the kind of place that whispered old money and older secrets.
Allison stepped out last, her black suitcase in hand, feeling the weight of six years settle onto her shoulders as she looked at the house that had both sheltered and imprisoned her.
House felt different. Quieter. Allison realized immediately that Maria wasn't there—no familiar figure on the porch, no warm embrace waiting. The older woman had retired, returned to her own life in Spain. The house was just a structure now, empty of the woman who had held their secrets.
Anna stepped out beside Allison, her eyes taking in the grand mansion with a mix of awe and wariness. "Welcome home," Allison murmured.
"Gosh, I feel dizzy." Anna said quietly.
Lauren squeezed Allison's shoulder. "Come, girls. Let's get you settled. You must be exhausted."
Twenty minutes later, after Lauren had fussed over unpacked bags and made vague promises about dinner plans, Allison excused herself with the ease of someone who'd been granted freedom long ago.
She found Anna in the hallway.
"So," Anna whispered, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "When?"
Allison grabbed her wrist. "Come on. I want to show you something first."
The garage was cool and dimly lit. Three cars lined the space—a sleek Mercedes (Alex's), a practical Lexus (Lauren's), and tucked in the corner like a forgotten memory, an old sky-blue Volkswagen Beetle with mismatched hubcaps.
Allison's breath caught.
"Oh my God," Anna breathed. "Is that—"
"My grandmother's." Allison ran her hand along the dusty hood.
"This is perfect," Anna said immediately, understanding the strategy. "It's not the Lexus. It's not a family car. It's invisible."
"Exactly." Allison pulled down the keys, the metal warm in her palm. "No one pays attention to old cars."