Chapter 12
Three months after my wedding-that-wasn't, I stood in a courtroom and watched Ryan Carter get sentenced.
Twenty-five years to life.
He didn't look at me. Not once. His lawyer had told him to keep his eyes forward, and for once in his life, Ryan did what he was told.
Victoria got thirty years. She was older. She'd likely die in prison.
The judge called Megan's case "one of the most calculated murders this court has ever seen."
In the gallery, Ethan and Natasha sat together. Natasha was crying silently. Ethan had his arm around her.
Justice. Real, tangible justice. Not the looped kind where everything resets. The kind that sticks.
After the sentencing, Natasha approached me outside the courthouse.
"Thank you," she said. Simple. Raw.
"I didn't do anything," I said. "Your brother did all the work."
She shook her head. "You survived. That's everything." She hugged me—tight and quick—and walked away.
That evening, Ethan took me to dinner. A quiet Italian place with candles on the tables and wine that cost too much.
"Celebrating?" I asked.
"Marking the end," he said. "Of the worst chapter."
We ate. We drank. We talked about things that had nothing to do with murder or time loops or death. Books. Movies. The fact that he'd once been a high school math teacher before his sister's death sent him down the path of vigilante investigation.
"You were a math teacher?"
"Don't sound so shocked."
"You just seem very... James Bond."
"James Bond doesn't grade algebra tests at 2 AM."
I laughed so hard wine almost came out of my nose.
At the end of dinner, walking back to my apartment, our hands brushed.
Neither of us pulled away.
"Ethan."
"Yeah?"
"Is it weird? That the only reason we know each other is because we were both trapped in the worst day of our lives?"
He considered this. "Probably. But every relationship has a weird origin story. Ours is just... weirder than most."
"Most people meet on dating apps. We met because my husband tried to murder me."
"Ex-husband."
"Technically, we never filed for divorce. Hard to do when one party's in prison."
"We should probably fix that."
"Probably."
We stopped at my door. The city hummed around us.
"I'm not ready," I said honestly. "For... anything. I need time."
Ethan nodded. No disappointment. No pressure. Just understanding.
"I've waited four hundred loops," he said. "I can wait a little longer."
He kissed my forehead—light, barely there—and walked away into the night.
I went inside, leaned against my door, and smiled.
It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't the unselfconscious kind he'd described from the coffee shop.
But it was real.
And it was mine.
Twenty-five years to life.
He didn't look at me. Not once. His lawyer had told him to keep his eyes forward, and for once in his life, Ryan did what he was told.
Victoria got thirty years. She was older. She'd likely die in prison.
The judge called Megan's case "one of the most calculated murders this court has ever seen."
In the gallery, Ethan and Natasha sat together. Natasha was crying silently. Ethan had his arm around her.
Justice. Real, tangible justice. Not the looped kind where everything resets. The kind that sticks.
After the sentencing, Natasha approached me outside the courthouse.
"Thank you," she said. Simple. Raw.
"I didn't do anything," I said. "Your brother did all the work."
She shook her head. "You survived. That's everything." She hugged me—tight and quick—and walked away.
That evening, Ethan took me to dinner. A quiet Italian place with candles on the tables and wine that cost too much.
"Celebrating?" I asked.
"Marking the end," he said. "Of the worst chapter."
We ate. We drank. We talked about things that had nothing to do with murder or time loops or death. Books. Movies. The fact that he'd once been a high school math teacher before his sister's death sent him down the path of vigilante investigation.
"You were a math teacher?"
"Don't sound so shocked."
"You just seem very... James Bond."
"James Bond doesn't grade algebra tests at 2 AM."
I laughed so hard wine almost came out of my nose.
At the end of dinner, walking back to my apartment, our hands brushed.
Neither of us pulled away.
"Ethan."
"Yeah?"
"Is it weird? That the only reason we know each other is because we were both trapped in the worst day of our lives?"
He considered this. "Probably. But every relationship has a weird origin story. Ours is just... weirder than most."
"Most people meet on dating apps. We met because my husband tried to murder me."
"Ex-husband."
"Technically, we never filed for divorce. Hard to do when one party's in prison."
"We should probably fix that."
"Probably."
We stopped at my door. The city hummed around us.
"I'm not ready," I said honestly. "For... anything. I need time."
Ethan nodded. No disappointment. No pressure. Just understanding.
"I've waited four hundred loops," he said. "I can wait a little longer."
He kissed my forehead—light, barely there—and walked away into the night.
I went inside, leaned against my door, and smiled.
It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't the unselfconscious kind he'd described from the coffee shop.
But it was real.
And it was mine.