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Beyond A Substitute 41
The sun sat high in the sky, warm but softened by the light breeze rolling off the forest. It was early afternoon, and the camp staff had just finished explaining the rules for the next group activity—The Tube Hunt. A simple game, but competitive enough to stir excitement. Somewhere within a wide section of the woods, dozens of colored plastic tubes had been hidden, each one containing a folded strip of paper with a simple task or reflective question written inside. The team that found the most by the end of the allotted time would win something vague and mysterious: “a special surprise,” as one of the staffers had said with a mischievous grin. Everyone was to be paired up. The names had already been randomly drawn and written on a laminated list, which the facilitator now read aloud. “Devon and Carolina.” Carolina blinked, then shrugged, shooting a quick look at Katherine as if to say well, this should be interesting. “Kingsley and Katherine.” There was a pause—only a sec
Beyond A Substitute 40
The sun was beginning to dip, washing the sky in a pale orange hue as the group slowly dispersed from the last session. Everyone seemed both relaxed and exhausted—the kind of tiredness that came from breathing mountain air, listening to themselves too long and digging up more emotions than they had planned for. Katherine stretched her arms over her head, sighing as she adjusted her hoodie. Carolina yawned beside her. “I’m beaten,” Carolina muttered, already tugging her hair into a loose bun. “I’m going straight to bed. I don’t even care if it’s just seven-thirty.” Katherine smiled. “I kind of want to walk around a bit. You know… breathe. Sightsee. I don’t want to go inside yet.” Carolina stopped mid-yawn, squinting at her. “You sure? The mosquitoes out here are built differently.” “I’m good,” Katherine said. “I won’t go far. Just feel like I need to decompress.” Carolina looked at her for a moment longer. Then she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go shower, maybe lie down for a bit. Do
Beyond A Substitute 39
Her name dropped from his mouth like a memory. Not loud. Not commanding. Just… real. Katherine froze, her entire body stiffening the second she heard it. Her hand was still lightly caught in his, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore—she was looking through him, like she was trying to figure out whether this was some sick trick of her tired mind. Like if she stared hard enough, he would blur away into someone else. But he didn’t. He was still standing there—Kingsley. A little older than the last time she saw him, maybe, a little more worn around the eyes. His hair was longer, not so perfectly combed back as it once was. He had on a plain gray pullover and dark pants, something unusually… normal. Stripped of polish. And still, it was unmistakably him. Katherine yanked her hand back like it burned her. “You…” Her voice was tight. Strained. “What are you doing here?” “I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t know this would happen like this,” he stammered. “Oh, don’t give me that,” s
Beyond A Substitute 38
The morning air was crisp as the town faded behind them. Their taxi hummed along the long, winding path that led deeper into the countryside, where the trees stood tall like silent guardians, their leaves rustling with a wind that smelled of pine and earth. Katherine sat by the window, her cheek resting in her palm, watching the scenery unravel like pages of a forgotten book. She wore a cream turtleneck and wide-leg linen pants, her hair pulled into a low, neat bun. Next to her, Caroline scrolled through her phone, grinning every now and then at the welcome emails the camp had sent.“You ready for this?” Caroline asked, her voice soft but excited.“We’re here,” the driver announced, slowing to a stop near a wooden archway that read:The Ridge Retreat: A Month of Stillness, Strength, and Self.Carolina’s face lit up. “Oh my God. After three years…”Katherine stepped out into the fresh air, inhaling deeply. It was crisp and cool, carrying a scent of cedar, damp earth, and distant water.
Beyond A Substitute 37
The house was quiet—eerily quiet, like it had been holding its breath all night. Kingsley sat up from the guest room’s king-sized bed, a thin blanket tangled at his feet. His back ached from the mattress he wasn’t used to, and the events of the previous day weighed on him like bricks on his chest. He didn’t bother showering yet, just threw on a black T-shirt and loose joggers before stepping out into the hallway. The scent of roasted coffee, fresh croissants, and eggs drifted down the marble corridor—proof that the house was awake, even if it felt lifeless. He entered the dining room to find Beth already seated at the head of the table, in a sleek ivory robe, her tablet resting beside her plate. She was sipping orange juice, acting like the world hadn’t been set on fire just twenty-four hours ago. She didn’t look up when he stepped in. “Good morning,” Kingsley said quietly, his voice rough. Beth didn’t respond immediately. She took another sip of her juice, wiped her lips
Beyond A Substitute 36
The car ride was silent. Beth sat on one side of the backseat, her sunglasses hiding what little expression she still allowed herself. Kingsley sat on the other side, hands clasped, eyes locked on the skyline as they drove through Midtown. The silence was louder than shouting—louder than anything either of them had said the night before. The elevator ride up to the penthouse was quick. Familiar. Sterile. When the doors opened, Anna Rowe was already waiting. Pristine in a pearl sweater and silk trousers, she stepped forward and kissed her son on the cheek, then gave Beth a brief, cool embrace. “You’re here. Good,” she said. “Your father’s in the drawing room.” They followed her in. Micheal Rowe sat in his usual chair, a cup of black coffee resting on the side table, The Wall Street Journal folded neatly on his lap. He didn’t look up as they entered. “Sit,” he said flatly. “Let’s not waste the morning.” Beth sat. Kingsley did the same, though slower, his shoulders heavy
Beyond A Substitute 35
The café had emptied out slowly, until only the warm hum of the lights remained. Katherine was wiping down the last table, her movements slower than usual, heavy with everything the day had dragged in. Her hands paused over the damp cloth as she glanced at the door. She still felt Beth’s voice in her ear. The sharpness. The judgment. The weight of someone else’s mess suddenly thrown over her shoulders. The bell above the door jingled softly. She looked up. Jordan stepped in. Still in that same dark denim jacket, hands in his pockets, expression quiet but clear. She raised an eyebrow, forcing a little smile. “You’re back.” “I waited until you were almost done,” he said, walking toward the counter. “Didn’t want to crowd you earlier.” She nodded. “Thanks.” He looked at her for a long moment. “You weren’t okay.” “No,” she said softly. “I wasn’t.” Silence stretched between them, gentle but full. Then he shrugged a little. “So, how about that ice cream?” Katherine
Beyond A Substitute 34
8:07 PM — The Quiet Brew Café Brooklyn, New York The last customer had left. The chairs were stacked. The windows were dimmed. Katherine had just finished wiping down the espresso machine when she heard the soft knock. She didn’t go immediately. She let him wait for a moment. Then she walked over and unlocked the door, pushing it open. The cold from the outside rushed in with him, but her eyes were colder. Kingsley stepped inside, slowly, as if unsure if he’d be allowed to. Before he could say hi or even draw a breath— “I am not a substitute.” Her voice hit like glass. No softness. No curve. Just sharp edges. “I am beyond a substitute, Kingsley,” she continued, folding her arms. “You don’t just get to come to me every time your life goes off the rails. I’m not your emergency exit. I’m not your second choice.” “Katherine—” he tried, voice low. “No,” she cut him off, “you did this before. You remember? When you I took you to the hospital ? I was the one who took
Beyond A Substitute 33
Late morning sun spilled through the wide glass windows of the wellness center, glinting off the polished reception desk and soaking into the quiet hum of clients moving between therapy rooms. The scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air. Everything about the place was calm—too calm for the storm Kingsley brought through the door. He stepped in sharply, dressed in a tailored navy coat, drawing more than a few curious eyes. A receptionist looked up from her screen. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” “I’m here to see Carolina Marks. It’s personal.” The receptionist blinked, unsure. “Is she expecting you?” “No,” Kingsley said, tone clipped but polite. “Just tell her it’s Kingsley Rowe.” She hesitated, then picked up the phone. A few moments passed. Kingsley stood still, trying to swallow the anticipation clenching his chest. Then she came out. Carolina froze the moment she saw him. Her brown eyes narrowed, mouth pressing into a hard line. She crossed her arms, post
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