Zayden's POV
The sun dipped low, casting golden streaks over the lake house, brushing the old willow tree in honey light. The same tree where Elena first fell asleep on my shoulder. The same tree she now calls our sacred place.
She held the small wooden box in her lap like it contained something more than just trinkets. Maybe it did. Maybe it held our entire love story.
"I made a list," she whispered, brushing her fingers across the grain of the box. "Things to put inside. Want to see?"
I sat beside her in the grass, and she opened the lid.
Inside were things that didn't seem like much unless you knew the weight they carried:
A faded photo booth strip of us from that weekend in New York—her hair was a mess, and I was laughing.
A dried rose from our wedding bouquet.
The bracelet her mother gave her when she was ten.
The silver cufflink I wore on the day I married her, engraved with "Z&E".
"I also wrote letters," she added. "One for you, and one for...well, the future."
I couldn't speak, only watched her hands tremble as she folded the letters in, sealing parts of herself into this tiny time capsule.
"Elena," I finally murmured. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
She nodded. "If I don't... there won't be anything left of me to hold onto when I'm gone."
I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat was a fist. "There will always be too much of you left. In everything. In me."
We dug the hole together beneath the willow, our fingers messy with earth and memory. When the box settled in, she gently placed her palm on top before covering it with dirt.
She carved something into the bark of the tree with the tip of a key. I leaned in to see.
"E+Z // Until the stars forget how to shine."
And beneath that, in smaller script: "To be opened when I'm gone—or when he misses me too much."
When she stood, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, chin tucked in her shoulder. We didn't say anything for a long time.
The wind played with her hair, and the willow tree swayed like it was trying to remember every word we weren't brave enough to say aloud.
"Elena Wolfe," I whispered into her neck. "You buried a box, but you already live in every inch of me."
She turned to face me, cupping my cheek.
"I know. And that's why I'm not scared anymore."
I kissed her there, under the willow tree, as the sky melted into a soft twilight blue. And as we held each other beneath roots older than memory and stars just beginning to blink awake, I realized—
This wasn't a goodbye.
It was a promise.