For a while we just stand there, watching the lanterns drift across the dark water. The river moves slowly, carrying each small light farther into the night. Lucien reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out the folded slips of paper and the pen he grabbed earlier. Without saying anything, he steps closer to the edge of the river and writes something on one of them. His handwriting is quick, deliberate, like he already knows what belongs there. When he finishes, he folds the paper carefully. Not in half, but into a small paper boat, the kind children learn to make in school.
For a moment he just holds it. Then he crouches and sets it gently on the water. The tiny boat rocks once before the current catches it and carries it away. Lucien watches it drift for a moment before turning back to me. He holds out the second slip of paper and the pen.
“Your turn.”
The pen feels heavier than it should. I stare down at the blank paper, and immediately I know the name that should go there.
Dominic. My husband.
The man who kissed me goodbye that morning like everything was normal. The man who used to wake up before me just to make coffee. The man who once drove three hours in the middle of the night because I told him I missed him. The man who promised me forever.
Lazy Sunday mornings flash through my mind. Cooking dinner together in a kitchen that smelled like garlic and burnt butter. His arm around my waist while we watched movies we’d both already seen. The way he used to say my name like it meant something.
For a moment the pen hovers over the paper.
Dominic.
That’s the name I’m supposed to write. That’s the name everyone would expect. But something inside me resists.
Because the truth is… it isn’t just Dominic I need to let go.
It’s the woman who stayed. The woman who ignored the small cracks. The woman who thought love meant enduring anything.
Slowly, I write.
Era.
My old name. The version of me that belonged to that life. The one who waited, the one who believed. When I finish, I fold the paper once and hand it to Lucien. He glances at it briefly, then smiles softly. Not questioning, not asking, just understanding. With careful hands, he folds the paper into another small boat. Then he crouches beside the water and sets it down.
The current catches it almost immediately, carrying it away to join the others. We stand there quietly, watching it drift farther into the dark. The lanterns shimmer across the surface of the river, surrounding it like small floating stars. My eyes burn suddenly. Not from sadness. Something lighter.
Lucien speaks quietly beside me, his gaze still on the water. “Some things only leave,” he says softly, “once you’re brave enough to let them.”
I glance down at my hand. The gold ring reflects the pale light around us. For a moment, flashes of the life I had flicker through my mind. Laughter in the kitchen, his arms around me, the way he once looked at me like I was his entire world.
And then the other memory comes.
The bedroom door, her voice, his hands on someone else. The ache returns, heavy and slow. I slide the ring off my finger. The metal feels colder than it should and for a second I just hold it in my palm, staring at it. Then I tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. I’ll give it back to the man who once told me I was his whole world. The man who shattered mine.
The tiny boat drifts farther away, disappearing among the lights.
And for the first time in a long time, the river carries a piece of me away with it.
CHAPTER 9
Burn
We watch the little paper boat drift farther down the river until it becomes just another shadow among the lantern lights.
Lucien exhales beside me. “Do you think it dissolves?”
“The paper?”
“Yeah.” He smiles.
I watch the current carry the lanterns along the dark surface. “I hope so.”
He glances at me. “Because it’s a way of setting your past free?”