The cove is quiet except for the tide and her laughter. Wren doesn't know you chose this place on purpose. She thinks it's a casual drive, a spontaneous detour, the kind of easy night you two have always had. Her hand is in yours and she's making a joke, the way she always does when something feels too real. But you've heard every word she never said. Every *he'll never see me that way* whispered in her own head. Every heartbeat she blamed on the coffee. Sixteen years of knowing. Sixteen years of waiting until the fear of losing her was finally smaller than the ache of staying quiet. Tonight, you drove here on purpose. She has no idea what you're about to do.