As for Vance, I heard almost nothing. A mutual acquaintance mentioned that his shop had expanded into a larger building, but I didn't ask follow-up questions. It no longer mattered whether he was successful, lonely, sorry, or completely indifferent to what happened. His opinion of me and his ability to attract Kinsley's attention had nothing to do with the kind of life I wanted to create.
One Saturday, Wyatt and I drove past Willow Creek Manor on the way to visit a friend who lived outside Dublin. I recognized the turnoff immediately, and for a moment I felt the old tension returning. Wyatt noticed where I was looking and asked whether I wanted to take another road. I said no, and we continued past the gates without slowing down.
The gardens were bright beneath the afternoon sun, and a few cars were parked near the ballroom. People were probably preparing for a wedding or a family event, somebody else's celebration unfolding in a place that had once represented my future. The sight hurt for a second, then became what it actually was: a beautiful venue beside a road. I turned back to Wyatt and asked whether he had remembered to bring the tools our friend needed.
By the time we reached the highway, we were arguing about who had left the toolbox behind. Wyatt insisted he'd put it in the truck, and I reminded him that he'd once forgotten an entire bicycle wheel during a repair. He accused me of holding onto ancient grievances, and I laughed hard enough that he missed the exit and had to circle back. It was the kind of afternoon I had once expected to spend with Kinsley, made different not because the activity changed but because I was finally willing to enjoy it without comparing it to what might have been.
Sometimes people asked me why I had canceled the wedding so quickly instead of giving Kinsley one more chance. I could tell them about the boundaries, the false break-in, and the overnight visit, but those details only explained the immediate decision. The deeper reason was that I had imagined marriage as a place where difficult truths could be spoken before they became disasters. When she chose deception because honesty might have brought an answer she didn't want, I lost confidence in the foundation we were supposed to share.
People also asked whether the story would have been different if she had called and asked permission to stay. I couldn't say for certain because the actual night hadn't unfolded that way, but I knew honesty would have given us a chance to discuss alternatives before either person made a final decision. We might still have disagreed, and the disagreement might still have exposed an incompatibility. What would have been different was the absence of a manufactured emergency and the possibility of leaving the conversation knowing neither of us had been manipulated.