Stars sink, moon sets—no more thoughts of you

The boutique’s front doors hissed shut behind them, sealing in the smell of new wood and fabric softener. Outside, the street blazed with late-morning sun, but inside my daughter’s eyes still shone with the dull glaze of a kid who’s been left standing alone at recess.

Stella carried three oversized shopping bags, the kind printed with cartoon giraffes and elegant logos, while Ethan cradled the fourth. They looked like a couple stepping out of an ad—perfect hair, easy smiles, the whole scene dripping with money and the promise of a picture-perfect nursery.

Bella stayed by the toy aisle, though she could never touch a thing. She stared at the pink-and-gold Barbie box as if maybe, if she concentrated hard enough, the rules of the dead would bend. Her hand went through the box again, and this time her bottom lip trembled. The sound she made was the soft, hiccupping breath of someone trying not to cry.

“She doesn’t want me anymore,” she whispered. “She doesn’t want me anymore.” Each repetition broke a little more of my spine.

I crouched in front of her, even though crouching was just an old habit now. “Bell—” But the words fell apart in my mouth. What could I say? That her mother’s arms were full of someone else? That love doesn’t always die, but sometimes it gets buried under enough new promises to feel like it has?

The clerk’s voice cut through the static in my head. “Everything’s wrapped. Shall we have it sent to your address, Ms. Summers?”

“Send it straight to the house,” Stella said. “He’s going to have the best of everything.”

Ethan chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “Spoiling him already.”

“My son deserves the best,” she said, and when she said my son, her palm pressed lightly to her belly. Not once did her eyes drift toward the empty space where Bella stood.

I turned just in time to see Bella watch her mother pay for a tower of toys, toys my daughter would never get to touch. She glanced from the counter staff packing up boxes to Stella’s serene face, then down at her own shoes. Her shoulders curled in, small enough to fold into herself.

The cell phone in Stella’s purse started to ring. She dug it out, frowned at the unknown number, and answered.

“Ms. Summers?” a man’s voice said, official and careful. “This is Detective Harris with East District Police. We’ve recovered two sets of remains from a site near East Ridge Quarry. Based on preliminary analysis, we believe they are your former husband, Gabriel Winters, and your daughter—”

Stella’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Her brow pinched, just a fraction. Then she laughed—short, cold. “You people are getting creative. You should be ashamed, using my name for some scam. Try another mark.”

“This isn’t—” the detective started, but she was already cutting the call.

She slid the phone back into her bag with a snap. “Scammers,” she said to Ethan. “Claiming Gabe’s dead. Pathetic.”

The name hit me like a body blow. I hadn’t heard it in her voice in years. She said it without flinching, but I saw the twitch in her hand as she zipped the purse.

Ethan’s mouth tightened. “Why would they bring him up now?”

“Because people are vultures,” she said, forcing a light tone. “Come on. We’ve got reservations.”

Reservations. For what? For a dinner they didn’t need. For an evening on a floating palace while the truth clawed at their door.

By sunset, we were aboard a luxury cruise ship, the kind with glass elevators and champagne chilled in ice sculptures shaped like swans. Stella wore a black dress that hugged her pregnancy like it was part of the design. Ethan looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

They dined on the top deck, the harbor city sprawling out in lights beneath them. Lobster, steak, a dessert tray that cost more than the first car I ever owned. I stood in the shadows, Bella tucked under my arm, and watched them toast to “new beginnings.”

After dinner, Stella led Ethan onto the open deck. The air was cooler out here, sea wind rolling over the railings. Ethan leaned forward, gripping the polished wood, breathing it in. “You know,” he said, voice half-lost to the wind, “when I was a kid in the group home, I used to wish for this. A wife who’s gentle with me. A family. My own home.” He looked back at her. “I have it now. With you. And him.”

Her arms slid around his waist from behind, and for a second, the years folded back and I saw the eighteen-year-old girl who once promised me the same thing. Back then, she said I’d never be alone again. That she’d be my home.

Ethan’s voice broke my memory in two. “Thank you, Star. For giving me this.”

She stiffened just a little. The pause was so brief most people wouldn’t catch it. But I did.

“Ethan,” she said slowly, “do you really think Gabe ran off with someone else?”

The name again. And this time, it wasn’t as steady.

He turned, schooling his expression, but not fast enough to hide the flash of panic. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“I just—” she began, but he was already shaking his head, eyes damp.

“You think I could lie to you about that?” His voice cracked in all the right places. “Star, you’re all I’ve got. That’s not fair.”

She pulled back, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—please don’t be upset.”

He faced away, letting her see the line of his shoulders go tense. “I need a minute,” he said.

What she didn’t see was his hands, curled into fists tight enough to go white.

A half hour later, fireworks exploded above the water—giant chrysanthemums of red and gold that painted the whole deck in light. She wrapped her arms around him again, murmured something in his ear. The same words she once saved for me when she wanted to pull me back from anger.

And Ethan, greedy for the comfort, let himself smile again.

From my place against the rail, I watched it all. My daughter’s hand squeezed mine. “Daddy,” she whispered, “why’s Mommy holding him like that?”

I couldn’t answer. Not in any way that wouldn’t break her twice.

The fireworks faded. The ship kept moving. Somewhere behind them, the quarry lay quiet under the night, holding onto our bones.