“She Swore It Was Just a Girls’ Night, But When He Saw Room 331, His Marriage, His Memory, and His Guilt Unraveled”

By the time Evan Miller read the text for the tenth time, he couldn’t tell if the words were comforting or suspicious.

Relax, it’s just a girls’ night. We’re at The Harborview. Don’t wait up 💕

His wife, Lena, always used that heart when she wanted him not to worry.

Once, that would’ve worked.

Tonight, it didn’t.

He was sitting on their worn gray sectional in their small Cleveland, Ohio townhouse, ESPN on mute, a beer sweating on the coffee table. Their six-year-old daughter, Addie, was asleep upstairs with her white noise machine humming.

Evan checked the clock.

9:17 p.m.

He could still hear the echo of Lena’s heels on the hardwood from an hour earlier, fresh in his mind. She’d done her hair in loose waves, the way she always did for special occasions. Makeup slightly heavier than her usual “five-minute mom routine.” A short black dress she’d bought “on sale” and then left the tag on for two weeks like a dare.

“Too much?” she’d asked, twirling once in the hallway.

“Nah,” he’d said, throat tight. “You look… insane. In a good way.”

“Girls’ night,” she’d laughed. “We’re just going to drink wine and complain about our husbands.”

He’d kissed her cheek. Lightly. Too lightly.

Now, alone with the quiet, the words from his coworker kept replaying in his head:

“Man, if my wife suddenly had a ‘girls’ night’ every other Friday at the same hotel, I’d at least have questions.”

The Harborview was the kind of boutique hotel that popped up on influencer Instagrams and bridal shower Pinterest boards—rooftop bar, overpriced cocktails, soft jazz in the lobby.

It wasn’t where Lena’s friends normally went when they wanted dollar margaritas and nachos.

He took a breath, trying to shake it off.

Am I really doing this? he thought. Am I really that guy now?

He’d been distant lately. He knew that. Long hours at the auto plant after nearly getting laid off last year. His own secret—a flirty friendship with a woman from HR that had almost become something worse if he hadn’t pulled back at the last second.

He wasn’t proud of the way he had liked the attention.

He was even less proud of the way guilt now twisted Lena’s every move into something sinister in his mind.

His phone buzzed again.

This time it wasn’t Lena.

It was Noah, his best friend.

You still spiraling or did you decide to be a normal person tonight?

Evan exhaled through his nose.

Spiraling, he replied. She’s at The Harborview again.

Three dots appeared. Then:

Dude. I told you, just go see. Either you calm your brain down or you find the truth. Torturing yourself on the couch is the dumbest option.

Evan stared at the screen.

He imagined himself driving downtown. Sitting outside the hotel like some creep with a baseball cap pulled low. Peering through glass doors to see if his wife of eight years was… what? Laughing too hard with someone? Sitting too close?

He hated how easily his imagination supplied images.

He grabbed his keys before he could talk himself out of it.

He checked Addie one more time, called his sister—who lived ten minutes away—and told her he needed her to come sit at the house because “he had to go deal with something at work.”

A half-lie was still a lie, but it was the only way he could get out without explaining.

Fifteen minutes later, he was pulling into the Harborview’s parking garage.

His heart thudded in his ears.

---

CHAPTER TWO – THE HARBORVIEW

The Harborview was all about atmosphere.

Muted gold lights, navy-blue carpets, high ceilings with exposed beams, candles on every table. The lobby smelled faintly of citrus, money, and whatever scent they sprayed to make you forget the city smelled like exhaust outside.

Evan walked in, trying to look like a man who had every reason to be there.

He told himself he was being ridiculous.

He told himself the same thing he’d told his therapist once: Trust is a choice.

He’d chosen to trust Lena for eight years.

Recently, that choice felt less like a decision and more like balancing on a fraying rope.

He spotted the rooftop bar elevator and stepped inside, hiding in the corner behind a couple taking selfies.

When the doors opened, he was hit with low music and the murmur of conversation. Twinkling string lights crossed the open terrace. Groups of women crowded around high-top tables, all clinking glasses full of pink and gold drinks.

He scanned the crowd, pulse jumping.

There.

Lena, near the far glass railing, in that black dress, laughing with her friends: Maya, Jess, and Courtney. Four margarita glasses on the table. A basket of fries half-eaten. A phone in the middle, screen up.

Evan’s shoulders loosened a fraction.

It really was a girls’ night.

He felt like a jerk.

Like a spy.

He moved to duck back into the elevator when Lena grabbed her phone.

Watched her screen.

Her smile faltered for just a split second.

Then came back, more forced.

Maya leaned in. “Everything okay?” he could see her mouth.

Lena nodded too quickly.

Jess rolled her eyes theatrically, probably mid-rant about her ex-husband. Courtney snapped a photo of their drinks and typed something with a hashtag, no doubt.

Lena typed quickly.

Evan’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

He stepped back against the wall.

Love you. We might stay late. Maya booked a room just in case we don’t feel like driving. Don’t wait up, seriously. Kiss Addie for me.

A room.

Something cold settled in his gut.

He watched as Lena slid her phone back onto the table, plastered on a smile, and reached for her drink.

He told himself he had what he came for. She was here. With her friends.

He should go home.

Then he noticed something.

She wasn’t drinking much.

She’d pick up the glass, take the tiniest sip, then set it down and glance at her phone again.

Five minutes later, he watched Lena lean in and say something to Maya. Maya’s face softened. She hugged her quickly.

Then Lena grabbed her purse.

She was leaving.

Alone.

Evan slipped back into the shadows near a large potted plant as Lena headed for the elevator, heels clicking on the tile.

He shouldn’t follow.

He absolutely shouldn’t follow.

He waited two beats.

Then got on the next elevator down.

---

CHAPTER THREE – THE HALLWAY

He watched Lena on the mezzanine level from behind a column.

She walked purposefully toward the reception desk, then past it, toward the main hallway where the elevators to the rooms were.

He listened as a couple of tourists bickered over a map next to him.

“Babe, it’s literally on your phone.”

“I like paper, Travis, it’s not illegal.”

The normalcy of their argument clashed hard with the adrenaline in his veins.

Lena stepped into a separate bank of elevators. He couldn’t hear what she said, but he saw her press a button.

He waited until the doors closed.

Then hurried over to the panel and squinted at the little digital indicator above: it climbed… 2… 3… then stopped.

Third floor.

He jabbed the “up” button.

The elevator took forever.

His leg bounced.

He imagined getting off and seeing her walk into some random room number with a guy standing at the doorway. Some faceless, taller, richer, funnier man she’d met at the gym or at one of Addie’s school events.

A wave of nausea washed over him.

When the doors finally opened, he stepped into an empty elevator.

As the car climbed, the numbers blinked slowly.

1… 2… 3.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

The hallway was quiet.

Gray carpet. Soft lighting. A long stretch of doors, each with a gold number plate.

Evan stepped out.

Every sound seemed amplified: the hum of the air conditioner, the distant ding of another elevator, his own breathing.

He didn’t know which way she’d gone.

Left or right.

He chose left.

He walked, forcing himself not to run, eyes scanning door numbers.

There was a corner at the end of the hall. He turned.

No signs of her.

He backtracked, heart sinking.

Maybe she’d gone right.

Maybe she was already behind a door somewhere, laughing with—

“Sir?”

A voice made him jump.

A housekeeper stood near a cart, holding a stack of fresh towels. Her name tag read RENEE.

“You look a little lost,” she said kindly.

He tried to sound casual.

“Uh, I’m just meeting my wife. She came up a minute ago. I think I missed which room she said.”

Renee smiled. “That happens more than you’d think. You know her name?”

He hesitated.

“Lena. Lena Miller.”

Renee thought for a moment.

“I just cleaned 331 for a Miss Miller,” she said. “She checked in about twenty minutes ago.”

He blinked.

“That—can’t be right,” he said. “She just got here with her friends. They’re at the rooftop bar.”

Renee shrugged. “All I know is, the reservation says Miller, and the woman who came up to drop her bag looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.”

Something tall and heavy shifted inside Evan’s chest.

“Room… 331?” he repeated.

“Down the other hall, honey,” Renee said gently, pointing. “Make a right, then another right.”

He thanked her with a stiffness that felt like it might crack and moved in the direction she indicated.

Each step felt like walking through wet cement.

He found the hallway.

The numbers climbed.

He stopped in front of 331.

The door was perfectly ordinary.

Beige. Brass handle. Little peephole.

He pressed his ear to it.

Silence.

He lifted his hand.

Knocked.

No answer.

He tried the handle.

It turned.

Unlocking with a soft click.

His stomach lurched.

He pushed the door open.

---

CHAPTER FOUR – ROOM 331

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

Hotel-clean: faint bleach, generic floral air freshener, and something else. Cologne.

Not his.

The room was standard: king-sized bed, white duvet, navy throw blanket, one of those abstract paintings on the wall that meant nothing to anyone.

A small suitcase sat by the wall.

It was Lena’s. He recognized the scuff on the left side from their trip to Florida last summer.

On the bed sat a man.

He looked to be mid-thirties, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Dark hair. Well-kept beard. Not movie-star handsome, but the kind of put-together that said: I have my life more organized than you.

He was scrolling his phone.

He looked up.

Saw Evan.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, then narrowed in confusion.

“Uh… can I help you?” he asked.

Evan’s throat went dry.

Who the hell are you?

The man stood slowly, hands visible.

“Wrong room, maybe?” he said. “This is 331.”

Evan’s voice came out rough.

“I know what room it is. Where’s Lena?”

Recognition flickered across the man’s face.

“You’re Evan?” he asked.

Every hair on Evan’s arms stood up.

“You know my name,” Evan said.

The man nodded slowly.

“She said you might come,” he said. “I’m Dr. Miles Greene.”

The name tickled something in Evan’s memory.

Lena’s therapy. The marriage counseling sessions she went to alone when he “couldn’t get off work.” The check he’d grudgingly written one month when she said he couldn’t put a price on mental health.

“You’re her therapist,” Evan said, realization crashing in. “You’re the couples counselor.”

“Was,” Miles corrected. “Ethics. We ended the professional relationship before any of this happened.”

Any of what?

Blood roared in Evan’s ears.

“You’re sleeping with my wife,” he said. The words tasted like acid.

Miles held up both hands.

“Evan, right? Look, this is not what you think—”

“Oh really?” Evan snapped. “Because it looks like my wife told me she was going on a ‘girls’ night’ and booked a hotel room where her former therapist is just hanging out waiting for her.”

He laughed, a sound with no humor in it.

“Tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

Miles’ jaw clenched.

“You’re supposed to think that if this were something she wanted to hide, she wouldn’t have used the same hotel she’s been telling you about for weeks,” he said evenly. “You’re supposed to think she’s trying to get you to notice.”

The door clicked behind Evan.

He turned.

Lena stood there.

Eyes wide.

No longer the confident woman in the rooftop bar—just Lena, his wife, in a black dress and the kind of expression that said everything was about to break.

“You came,” she whispered.

Evan stared.

“That’s what you’re leading with?” he asked. “Not, ‘hey honey, this is my ex-therapist in the hotel room I booked behind your back’?”

She winced.

“I didn’t book it behind your back,” she said quietly. “I booked it right in front of you. I told you I had girls’ nights. I told you the hotel. I told you… everything except the room number.”

Miles took a step toward the door.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said.

Evan rounded on him.

“You’ll stay right there,” he snarled. “You don’t get to vanish like some ghost after—after whatever this is.”

“Evan,” Lena said, voice shaking, “nothing physical happened. Not ever. I swear to God.”

“Oh, that makes it fine,” he said. “Emotional cheating is so much better.”

She swallowed, eyes glistening.

“I never slept with him,” she repeated.

“But you planned to meet him in a hotel room,” Evan shot back. “Explain that to me. Explain why my wife is here, in Room 331, with the man who knows every intimate detail of our marriage.”

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This was a terrible idea,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Evan barked. “No kidding, doc.”

Lena stepped between them.

“Stop,” she whispered. “Before this gets worse than it has to.”

“It’s already worse than it has to be,” Evan said. “Start talking.”

---

CHAPTER FIVE – THE PLAN SHE NEVER FINISHED

Lena took a deep breath.

“The last time I saw Miles as a therapist was three months ago,” she said. “I was angry. Hurt. I told him things I hadn’t even told myself. About you. About us.”

Evan folded his arms.

“What about us?” he demanded.

“How you’d checked out,” she said, voice cracking. “How you’d rather stay late at the plant and ‘grab a beer with the guys’ than come home and talk to me. How you slept with your phone face-down, always.”

“That’s not—” he started.

She cut him off.

“How you saved a photo of that HR woman’s selfie,” she said softly. “The one she ‘accidentally’ sent to the group chat. You didn’t think I saw you double-tap her Instagram posts. But I did.”

Evan’s mouth went dry.

“I never—” he started again.

“You never slept with her,” Lena finished for him. “I know. I also know that every time you got a late-night email from her, you smiled in a way you hadn’t smiled at me in months.”

Silence fell heavy.

Miles shifted uncomfortably by the wall.

“This is between you two,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You really shouldn’t have,” Evan snapped.

Lena pressed on.

“I went to therapy because I wanted to fix it,” she said. “Fix us. I told Miles everything. At first, it was just… help. Then it became something else. Not because he did anything inappropriate. I just… I started to feel understood. Seen. And that scared me.”

Miles nodded, face tense.

“She told me she was developing feelings,” he said. “I told her we had to terminate therapy immediately. It’s a boundary we’re trained to enforce.”

“And so instead you… what?” Evan asked. “Met her in a hotel?”

“No,” Lena said quickly. “I asked him to meet me. Tonight. Here.”

“For what?” Evan demanded. “For what, Lena?”

Her eyes filled.

“To make a choice,” she said softly.

Air left his lungs.

“What choice?” he whispered.

“Whether to leave you,” she said.

The words punched through him.

She continued before he could react.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to fight without knowing what I even wanted,” she said. “I booked this room because I thought… if I saw him outside of a clinical setting, if I sat across from him as a person, not a therapist, I’d know whether these feelings were real or just me clinging to the first person who listened.”

Miles looked miserable.

“I told her it was a bad idea,” he said. “I told her it was a violation of power dynamics. That I shouldn’t meet her at all, let alone in a hotel. I was on my way to cancel when she texted to say she’d already checked in.”

“You still came,” Evan said.

“I came to tell her no,” Miles said quietly. “To tell her that whatever she felt wasn’t something I could act on. That it wasn’t ethical, or fair, to her or to you. That she needed distance to figure out what she really wanted—from her life, from her marriage.”

Lena nodded, tears spilling over.

“He told me all of that,” she said. “I cried. He handed me tissues. That’s all that happened. I swear.”

Evan looked between them.

“You expect me to believe this?” he asked. “That you booked a hotel room with a man you have feelings for and you were just going to… what, talk?”

Lena lifted her chin.

“Yes,” she said. “Because I needed to know if I was going to blow up our life for something real or for a fantasy. And before you say it—yes, that’s messed up. Yes, I should’ve come to you first. But Evan, I tried. For months. I asked you to come to therapy. I asked you to talk. You shut down every time.”

His mind flashed to all the nights he’d come home too tired to do anything but collapse in front of Netflix. The times he’d brushed off her “we need to talk” with a “can it wait?” that never turned into a conversation.

His guilt wrestled with his anger.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” she said. “But I walked right up to the edge. And that’s on me.”

Miles cleared his throat.

“And I crossed a line by even being here,” he said. “You have every right to file a complaint. Take my license. Whatever.”

Evan stared at him, rage simmering.

He imagined walking over, decking him like some caveman defending his territory.

But underneath everything, there was something else:

Fear.

If he focused all his anger on Miles, he wouldn’t have to look at the part he’d played in bringing them here.

“Get out,” Evan said finally.

Miles nodded.

“Gladly,” he said.

He moved toward the door, then paused.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “she talks about you like you hung the moon. Even when she’s angry. Especially then. That’s why I knew I couldn’t be what she thought she wanted. Don’t waste that, man.”

He left.

The door clicked shut.

Evan and Lena were alone.

---

CHAPTER SIX – THE FIGHT

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The hum of the air conditioning filled the room.

“I deserved to know,” Evan said finally. His voice trembled more than he wanted. “I deserved to know you were this unhappy.”

“I told you,” she said quietly. “Maybe not like this, but I told you.”

He laughed bitterly.

“Oh, right,” he said. “In between making dinner and packing Addie’s lunches and me coming home half-asleep. ‘How was your day, honey? By the way, I’m thinking about leaving you for my therapist.’”

“That’s not fair,” Lena snapped.

“Oh, you want fair?” he shot back. “Fair is you not making me feel like I’m crazy for worrying something was going on when you were literally planning a hotel rendezvous.”

“I’m not the only one who crossed lines,” she fired back. “You flirted with that HR woman for months. Don’t you dare act like you were some faithful saint and I’m the one who ruined everything.”

“I never—”

“Slept with her, I know,” Lena interrupted. “But you kept her on your mind. You let her live in the space where I used to be. You think I didn’t see the way you straightened your shirt before going into her office? The way you laughed a little too hard at her jokes?”

He flinched.

“That was nothing,” he said weakly.

“It was something,” she replied. “Maybe not to you. But to me? To the woman who was home washing your work uniforms, and dealing with Addie’s nightmares, and trying to pretend she wasn’t slowly disappearing? It was something.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed.

“I never wanted to disappear you,” he whispered.

She sat down on the other side, leaving a gulf of white duvet between them.

“I know,” she said. “That’s part of what makes this so messed up. I don’t think either of us woke up one day and said, ‘Let’s wreck our marriage.’ But we did it anyway. Tiny choices. Tiny neglects. Tiny betrayals.”

A lump formed in his throat.

“Did you want to leave?” he asked, voice barely audible.

She stared at her hands.

“I wanted the pain to stop,” she said. “I wanted to feel chosen again. Wanted to feel like more than a roommate who shares a kid and a mortgage.”

He rubbed his face.

“Did you… have feelings for him?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said plainly. “I did. Maybe I still do. Or maybe I just liked the idea of someone who wasn’t carrying the history we have. I honestly don’t know.”

The bluntness stung.

It also felt… honest.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

She looked up, eyes shining.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “God help me, yes. That’s why we’re in this room and not in a lawyer’s office.”

He swallowed hard.

“So what now?” he asked. “You got your moment of clarity? Was this helpful? Do you know if you want to stay or go?”

She exhaled shakily.

“I know one thing,” she said. “I don’t want to make any more decisions in secret. If we’re going to fix this—or end this—it has to be with both of us in the room. Not me and a therapist. Not you and some HR crush. Us.”

He nodded slowly.

“And what if I don’t want to fix it?” he asked, testing the words on his tongue. “What if I’m too tired? Too hurt?”

“That’s your right,” she said softly. “But at least be honest about it. With me. With yourself. With Addie when she’s old enough to ask why her parents couldn’t figure it out.”

The mention of their daughter hit him like a punch.

He pictured her messy braids, her drawings on the fridge, the way she crawled into their bed on Sunday mornings.

He imagined splitting holidays, splitting birthdays, splitting her.

“I don’t want to lose my family,” he said, voice breaking.

Lena’s tears spilled over.

“Then fight for it,” she whispered. “For the first time in a long time, fight for us instead of just fighting with me.”

He let out a shaky laugh.

“That sounds like something a therapist would say.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I actually listened during those sessions.”

He stared at the floor for a long moment.

Then he looked up.

“Come home with me,” he said finally. “Not tonight. Not like nothing happened. But… come home. We’ll tell my sister we need her again tomorrow so we can talk without worrying about Addie hearing. We’ll find a new counselor. One we both see. Together.”

She blinked.

“You’re willing to try?” she asked.

“I’m willing to be uncomfortable and honest,” he said. “And I’m willing to admit that I’ve been halfway out the door emotionally for a while. If you can admit you’ve been halfway out in your own way.”

She nodded slowly.

“I can admit that,” she said. “I already did when I booked this room.”

He managed a hollow smile.

“And for the record,” he said, “this is the most messed-up way anyone’s ever been invited to save their marriage.”

She laughed weakly through her tears.

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re really out here writing our own genre.”

He stood.

Offered her his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s leave Room 331 before it becomes the place our story ended.”

She looked at his hand for a long beat.

Then took it.

---

CHAPTER SEVEN – SLOW REPAIR

The work wasn’t cinematic.

There were no grand gestures. No Instagram quotes about healing. No Hollywood montage with soft music.

There were awkward, painful therapy sessions with a new counselor—Dr. Patel—who refused to let either of them dodge discomfort.

There were late-night talks at the kitchen table after Addie fell asleep, voices low, sometimes strained.

There were times Evan wanted to walk out when Lena brought up the HR woman again. Times Lena wanted to slam a door when Evan asked, “Do you still think about him?”

There were moments they laughed at something stupid and then went quiet, both remembering a time when that was effortless instead of fragile.

Trust didn’t come back all at once.

It came in fragments.

Evan realized how often he’d used work as an excuse to avoid his own feelings. He started leaving on time more. He deleted the HR woman from his social media, then told Lena he’d done it—not as some weird prize, but as a fact.

Lena stopped having “girls’ nights” at The Harborview. She still saw her friends, but she didn’t need a luxury rooftop to remind herself she was more than a mom and a wife.

They set boundaries.

Phones face-up.

No secrets about who they were texting.

Individual therapy for both of them, as well as joint sessions.

Sometimes, they backslid.

Sometimes, old wounds flared.

But slowly, the default tone between them shifted from defensive to curious.

One night, months later, they were folding laundry on the couch.

The TV played some reality show neither of them was really watching.

“Do you ever think about that night?” Evan asked suddenly.

“Which one?” Lena asked, then remembered. “The Harborview.”

“Yeah.”

She folded a towel, thought.

“I think about how close I came to making the biggest mistake of my life,” she said. “About how, if you hadn’t shown up, I might have walked out of there thinking the grass was greener, when really it was just different fertilizer.”

He chuckled quietly.

“I think about how I almost didn’t come,” he said. “How I sat on the couch staring at your text for twenty minutes, telling myself I was being paranoid. If I’d stayed home…”

“We’d probably still be pretending nothing was wrong,” she finished. “Maybe for another month. Maybe for another year. Maybe until one of us did something we couldn’t come back from.”

He nodded.

“Do you… regret me coming?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “It was horrible. And humiliating. And painful. But it forced us to stop pretending.”

He exhaled.

“Do you still hate me for going to the hotel instead of talking to you first?” she asked quietly.

He thought about it.

“No,” he said honestly. “I hate that it took a hotel room for me to wake up. But I hate my blind spots more than I hate your desperation.”

She blinked, surprised at his answer.

“Dr. Patel would be proud,” she said.

“Don’t tell her,” he replied. “She’ll start charging more.”

They laughed.

Addie’s footsteps thundered on the stairs.

“Mom! Dad!” she called. “I had a bad dream!”

Evan and Lena shared a look.

A little girl’s needs trumped marital postmortems.

“Tag team?” he asked.

“Always,” she said.

They went upstairs together.

---

EPILOGUE – THE ROOM THEY DIDN’T END IN

A year later, for their anniversary, Lena booked a weekend away.

She told Evan to pack a bag and not ask questions.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not gonna walk into some random hotel room and find a therapist again, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Too soon.”

They arrived at a small bed-and-breakfast on the edge of Lake Erie. No rooftop bar. No fancy lobby. Just a porch with chipped paint, a view of the water, and a host who greeted them with homemade cookies.

Their room number was 7.

Nothing loaded.

Nothing haunted.

Just 7.

As they unpacked, Evan glanced at her.

“You know,” he said, “I still remember the number.”

“331?” she guessed.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

“How does it feel now?” she asked.

He thought about it.

“Like the place where everything almost fell apart,” he said. “And also where we finally stopped lying to ourselves.”

She smiled softly.

“I can live with that,” she said.

They sat on the edge of the bed, fingers intertwined.

Their marriage wasn’t perfect.

There were still days one of them snapped, or retreated, or worried the old patterns might return.

But there were also mornings like this—quiet, together, honest.

Evan pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Happy anniversary,” he said.

Lena leaned into him.

“Happy anniversary,” she replied. “Thanks for showing up that night.”

He laughed.

“Thanks for letting me stay after I did.”

Outside, the lake shimmered under a pale blue sky.

Inside, two people who had nearly lost each other chose, again, not to.

Not in Room 331.

Not in any room.

Not today.

THE END