Page 99 of Love You Madly

She steps forward, her gaze locked on mine, her voice soft, almost like a whisper carried on the wind. “Owen.” There’s relief in her tone, but something else, too. Longing, maybe. As if she’s been waiting for me, just as I’ve been searching for her.

“You found me.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and the realization settles deep in my chest. This girl, the one I’ve been chasing for so long—it’s always been Callie. My heart pounds, a mix of disbelief and certainty filling the space between us.

I move toward her, faster now, drawn to her like gravity. She smiles—warm and genuine, the kind of smile that makes everything else fall away. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken.

She’s holding the small, ornate box. Its intricate symbols shimmer faintly in the dim light, just beyond my understanding. She extends it to me, and as our fingers brush, warmth radiates through me, grounding me in the moment. The connection between us hums, stronger than ever.

I open the box, knowing what I’ll find inside—the photograph. But this time, the image is clearer. It’s a family—a man, a woman, and their children, standing together in front of a house. The man is an older version of me, and the woman is Callie, unmistakably her. We’re smiling, a sense of peace and happiness written across our faces.

I stare at the picture, my throat tightening as I take in the sight of two little girls and a boy. The boy looks just like me when I was younger, but I know it isn’t me. “Barrett,” I whisper. My heart lurches as I recognize the older girl—Sara. And the tiny blonde, barely standing on her own... she’s ours.

A tear slips from my eye and falls onto the photograph,blurring the image for a moment. When I look back at Callie, I know. This is the answer I’ve been waiting for.

It’s always been her.

When I wake up Thursday morning, my chest feels heavy with the weight of the dream. Callie is miles away in Hawkridge, and the distance feels unbearable. I want to call her, to tell her everything, but how do you explain something like that? How do you put into words a dream that feels like fate?

Instead, I send a simple text:

Me:

Good morning, dollface. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

As I set the phone down, the memory of the dream lingers, refusing to fade. This isn’t just a connection. It’s something bigger—something that’s been pulling us together long before we even met. And now that I know... now that I’m sure... I know I’ll never be able to let her go.

forty-three

A THOUSAND MILES - VANESSA CARLTON

CALLIE - JULY 25, 2013

My phone buzzes softly on the nightstand, nudging me from sleep. I blink groggily, fingers brushing over the cool surface as I bring it closer. Owen’s name lights up the screen, making my chest flutter with warmth.

Owen:

Good morning, dollface. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

A smile tugs at my lips. Even in the stillness of early morning, his text chases away the quiet of the room, flooding me with a sense of anticipation. I linger on the message, savoring the moment before instinctively pressing the call button. I need to hear his voice.

He picks up after the second ring, his voice a mix of grogginess and warmth. “Morning, dollface. Didn’t expect you to call this early.”

“I could say the same to you,” I tease, leaning back against the pillows. “Why are you up so early?”

He hesitates, as if searching for the right words. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, his tone soft. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” I ask, hoping he’ll open up.

He pauses, and I can almost picture him rubbing the back of his neck, contemplating. “I had this dream… about us,” he finally says, his voice quieter. “It felt different, though. Like it was trying to tell me something.”

His words send a shiver down my spine. I had a similar dream last night too—something that felt bigger than just a regular dream. “Good different, I hope?” I ask, keeping my voice light.

“I think so,” he says. “It just made me realize how long I’ve been waiting for something like this.”

His confession hits me like a gentle wave, wrapping me in warmth. I swallow, finding my voice. “Owen…”

“I know it sounds crazy,” he cuts in, his voice steady but vulnerable. “But it’s like I’ve known you forever, longer than a few months. Like my soul is drawn to you, and that doesn’t make any sense because I’m not someone who believes in stuff like that. But with you… I don’t need proof. I just know it’s real.”

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