Chapter 8
+ 5 Points
Logan couldn’t stay still. The steady drone of the plane filled the cabin, but his mind was a storm of thoughts. He leaned against the armrest, fingers twitching, eyes unfocused
as he stared out the window.
“Penelope.””
林
He shut his eyes briefly, and memories flooded in.
Her hesitant yet radiant smile on their wedding day. The quiet conversations during late–night feedings with their newborn, Enzo. How she used to fall asleep next to him–warm, steady, unguarded. The time they vowed to grow old together. “Let’s stay simple,” she’d whispered, fingers laced in his. “I don’t want diamonds. I just want peace.”
Peace. And he had destroyed it.
In the hush of the cabin, he dozed off,
+ 5 Points
drifting into a dream. She stood by the garden gate, wind tousling her hair as she waved. “You promised you’d be back before dark, she teased.
Then the dream shifted–Penelope, folding laundry alone. Penelope, crying on the couch. Penelope, standing by the stove as he walked past her.
EASIL
Then–darkness.
He jolted awake, breath caught.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve landed. Welcome back,” the pilot’s voice announced overhead.
Logan was on his feet in an instant. He barely remembered to grab his bag. All he could think was: Maybe she’s home. Maybe I still have a chance.
The drive from the airport dragged on endlessly. Cars passed in a blur, but he didn’t
notice His palms were slick with sweat
ᅥ
ints
He pulled up to the house and flung the car door open. He ran up the steps, fumbling with his keys.
“Penelope!” he shouted. “Penelope, I’m home!”
Nothing.
He stepped inside, scanning the living room. Empty.
“Where are you?” he called again, louder. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?!”
He bounded up the stairs, two at a time, heart thudding.
He threw open the bedroom door–and froze.
It was empty.
The drawers were bare. The hangers in the closet clinked quietly–vacant. Her perfume was gone. Her books, too. And of course-
“No… no, no, no…” he muttered, backing away in disbelief.
He tore through every drawer, every cabinet. A photo frame toppled and shattered. Her scarves, her slippers, her ring dish–gone.
“Penelope!” he screamed. “Come back!”
He punched the doorframe, his voice cracking. “I can fix this. Just… just pick up the phone. Please.”
He called. Voicemail.
Again. Still nothing.
His throat burned as he paced the kitchen, a man unraveling. That’s when he saw it.
A white envelope sat on the table, neatly placed.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Inside: the signed divorce papers. And her wedding ring.
A guttural sound escaped him as he sank into a chair. Divorce? Penelope? She had always forgiven him before.
He read the signature. Her name. Her choice.
“No,” he whispered. “You can’t just leave.”
He snatched up his phone. “Call Enzo,” he barked at his assistant. “Call the driver. Call everyone. I want every airport checked. I want to know where she is.”
He dialed again. “Is she hiding at someone’s place? Is she with anyone? I don’t care what it takes. Find her.”
But none of it would matter.
Penelope was already in Milan.
She had landed that morning.
Now, she stood outside a small venue near Brera, holding a bouquet of pale white peonies. Her ivory gown moved gently in the breeze, one she had picked out herself. Around her, the world bustled–tourists
snapping photos, locals chatting. But inside, everything was still.
She caught her reflection in the glass doors. For a second, she nearly turned back.
Then the music began.
Penelope inhaled, straightened her spine, and walked down the aisle–alone.
The ceremony was brief, symbolic, quiet. No audience. No groom. Just her.
She slid a ring onto her own finger, whispering vows through her tears.
“I choose you,” she said softly, voice quivering. “I choose peace. I choose
freedom I choose me”
And somehow, in that moment–it was enough.
As the last notes of music faded, she turne to leave. The train of her gown flowed behi her, like a ribbon of old sorrow finally cut free.
Then she saw him.
A man stood at the back of the chapel, leaning casually against the doorway. Tall, well–dressed–not a tourist. He’d been watching her the whole time.
He clapped once, gently, before stepping forward.
“What a lovely bride,” he said with a warm smile. “What would you say… to having me as your groom? For real.”
Penelope blinked.
And for the first
