Chapter 12 — The Lake House
625 Words
The road leading to the lake house was overgrown with wildflowers and broken fences. Trees leaned like old sentinels, guarding the secrets hidden deep inside the woods. Dominic drove slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually between them—close, but not touching hers.
Marina stared out the window, her thoughts racing. This place held memories she didn’t have. But something inside her stirred—a tug of familiarity she couldn’t explain.
As the lake house came into view, her breath hitched.
A weathered two-story cabin with wraparound porches and glass windows overlooking the water. Ivy crawled up the sides. Windchimes clinked softly.
Dominic killed the engine.
They got out, walking slowly through the overgrown path to the front door.
“Do you recognize anything?” he asked, voice low.
“No,” she whispered. But she felt something. Like her skin remembered what her mind didn’t.
He pushed open the door. Dust swirled in the light as they stepped inside. The smell of pine, old paper, and lake air hit them.
Then something strange.
On the dining table, a white sheet covered something.
Dominic peeled it back.
A photograph.
Of him and Juliette. Smiling. Her head thrown back in laughter.
And behind it, a note:
"What’s forgotten is not always lost."
Marina touched the frame.
“I don’t remember this,” she murmured. “But… I feel it.”
Dominic looked at her, eyes searching.
“Are you scared?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said honestly.
“Of me?” he asked.
“No,” she said, turning to face him. “Of what happens if I am her. And what happens if I’m not.”
His hand found hers this time, fingers lacing through.
“I don’t care who you were,” he said softly. “I care who you are. Right here. Right now.”
And then, as the rain began again outside, he kissed her.
There was no hesitation this time.
No confusion.
No lies.
His lips found hers in a way that burned—slow and possessive, like he was memorizing her. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
She kissed him back like she needed to feel real.
He pressed her against the old wooden beam in the center of the room, his mouth traveling to the curve of her neck, her jaw, her collarbone. Her breaths came fast. Her body remembered things her mind didn’t. Every touch was familiar. Electric.
When they broke apart, his hands still cradled her face.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
“I don’t want you to.”
That night, they stayed at the lake house. A fire crackled in the hearth. He cooked her a simple meal—soup and toasted bread—and they ate by candlelight.
After dinner, she walked outside onto the deck, the lake stretching endlessly under the moonlight.
He followed, slipping his arms around her from behind.
“I haven’t felt peace like this in years,” he said.
She leaned into him. “Me neither.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” he said, “but tonight… can we just be us?”
She turned in his arms, looking up.
“Whoever we were,” she whispered, “I like who we are right now.”
They kissed again, this time slower. Deeper. Like the beginning of something new. Or the return of something ancient.
And in that moment, under the stars and the sound of the lake lapping gently against the shore…
Dominic didn’t care if she was Juliette or Marina.
She was his.
And she felt the same.
End of Chapter 12.
- Writer
