On Our Fifth Anniversary My Husband Begged Me Not to Leave Chapter 11

On Our Fifth Anniversary My Husband Begged Me Not to Leave Chapter 11

I was finally driving Route 66.

Outside the window, mountains rolled past, capped with snow.

The sky was so blue it felt close enough to touch.

I pulled over at a scenic overlook and raised my camera.

Click.

The shutter pressed down, and for a moment, I felt something strange wash over me.

It had been years since I’d held a camera like this.

I used to love it—photography.

But I gave it all up for Ethan.

My career.

My dreams.

Even myself.

Standing here now, I could feel those old passions stirring back to life.

They’d never really died.

But there was still a hollow ache in my chest.

Dad wasn’t here.

He couldn’t see any of this with me.

—

A commotion up ahead snapped me out of my thoughts.

A black motorcycle was tilted sideways on the shoulder, and its owner was crouched beside it, fiddling with the engine like it had died on him.

I wasn’t planning to stop.

But as I walked past, the guy looked up and grinned.

“Hey. Any chance you can help me out?”

I paused.

I had to admit—he had a face that was hard to ignore.

Young.

Bold.

A little reckless, like high summer sunlight.

“Help with what?” I asked.

“A ride. She gave up on me.”

I couldn’t help a short laugh.

“You’re not worried I’m dangerous?”

He blinked at me, all innocence.

“A girl this pretty? No way.”

I rolled my eyes.

Smooth talker.

—

But that face made it hard to stay annoyed.

Half an hour later, his bike had been hauled off by a tow truck, and my passenger seat had a new occupant.

“Liam Lucas.” He stuck out his hand.

“Looks like we’re road-tripping together for a while.”

I shook it.

“Stella.”

With Liam around, the Route 66 trip didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

The guy had more energy than he knew what to do with.

Snow-capped peaks?

Photo.

A yak on the roadside?

Photo.

An old man selling baked potatoes?

Photo.

He even chased down a stray dog for a picture.

I watched him running around with his camera and felt something loosen in my chest.

“Does everything need to be photographed?” I asked.

He looked at me with total seriousness.

—

“I’m documenting my life. When I’m old, I’m gonna use these to brag.”

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

It caught me off guard—that was the first real laugh I’d had since the divorce.

By sunset, we’d made it to a small town.

The whole place was bathed in warm orange light.

At the inn, Liam suddenly raised his phone.

“Hey. Let’s take a picture together.”

“Why would I take a picture with you?”

“To commemorate our road-trip friendship.” He was already moving next to me.

Click.

The photo caught us side by side, the sunset blazing behind us.

And there—on my own face—a faint, real smile.

I thought tonight would pass quietly, like all the others before it.

But the moment I turned to go inside, I heard it.

A voice behind me.

“Stella.”

My body locked up.

—

I couldn’t breathe for a second.

Slowly, I turned around.

Ethan stood there.

Wrinkled shirt.

Dark stubble along his jaw.

Bloodshot eyes.

Nothing like the composed, polished Dr. Hayes I used to know.

I waited for the wave of emotion to hit me—anger, grief, regret—but instead, I felt strangely calm.

Almost peaceful.

Maybe I’d really let go after all.

Ethan wasn’t looking at me, though.

His gaze was fixed beside me, dark and unreadable.

He was staring at Liam.

Liam glanced between us.

Then he stepped forward, just slightly, positioning himself in front of me.

“So,” he said, tilting his head. “You know this guy?”