Chapter 8

Georgia wasn’t small anymore.

From the freeway you could still see the old steeples and half‑collapsed barns, but they were wedged now between glass condos and new‑money barbecue chains that called themselves “smoke experiences.” A stone’s throw from Atlanta, Savannah thought, but still far enough for the air to remember who it was.

They parked by the magnolia tree that shaded the church graveyard. The grass was trimmed short and damp, the kind that clung to your shoes no matter how careful you walked. Seb followed quietly beside her as she led the way to the granite marker.

Ephraim & Charleen Spencer

Beloved parents. Forever home.

He had already seen everything else—where she’d learned to drive, the shop that still did her relaxer every other summer, the corner store where she used to buy sunflower seeds with her dad. Now he was here with her parents. The last stop.

Savannah knelt, brushing a stray leaf from the stone.

“They would’ve liked you,” she said. “Daddy would’ve tried to scare you off first, but he’d have come around. Mama would’ve cooked for a week straight.”

Seb smiled, eyes soft. “Then I’m sorry I missed them.”

“They’d be happy,” she said, voice steady but warm. “They always wanted me to find someone who looked at me like I was the thing worth staying for.”

He reached for her hand, held it.

“I was living a good life before you,” he said slowly. “But somehow you made it more. You amplified it. And I think it’s time you made me an honest man.”

When he dropped to one knee, the wind went still. The hum of the highway faded until it was only them and the cicadas.

Savannah laughed, half‑crying, half‑astonished, hands to her mouth.

And then—

“Lunch!”

The sound was sharp, metallic.

Savannah blinked.

Concrete walls. Fluorescent light. The scrape of plastic trays against a counter.

“Spencer, let’s move,” the guard barked.

She pushed herself up from the cot, joints stiff, body hollow. The room smelled of bleach and boiled something. She stood in line, took the tray, sat down. Ate nothing.

After a few minutes she rose again, silent, and returned to her cell. The door clanged shut behind her.

All she wanted was to drift back—to the graveyard, to the warmth, to the yes that had almost left her lips.

Yesterday was the only thing that still felt alive.

Today didn’t mean anything at all