Part 3The Box of Unopened Promises

“The production needs you on-site.”

The director slid a crew badge across the table. It labeled me as a Route Consultant.

I didn't touch it. “I agreed to provide my journals and data for the Oregon Coast segment. I didn't agree to be on camera.”

“You won’t be,” Serena said, sitting close to Nate. “There’s a road closure at Cape Point. You’re the only one who knows the local guides. If you don't come, the finale is dead.”

“Change the location,” I said.

The director shook his head. “The network already teased the Cape Point finale. We’re locked in.”

Nate took the badge and hung it around my neck. “It’s only for seven days, Elena. Just help Serena navigate the final stretch.”

The plastic badge felt heavy against my collarbone. “That stretch was my gift to you, Nate.”

“Which makes you the expert.”

“You’re asking me to lead her through my own wishes?”

“It’s a job,” Nate said firmly.

The director flipped through a binder. “Ms. Brooks, you’ve already been paid for the consulting. You signed off on the route. If you walk now, you’re stalling a crew of fifteen people. Don't make this harder for Nate.”

I had only signed off on the data. But somewhere in the fine print, "on-site support" had been added.

Serena reached out to touch the badge. “Forget it. I’ll walk it myself. If something happens to me, it’s nobody’s fault.”

Nate blocked her hand. “You had a flare-up last time we were in the mountains. I’m not letting you risk it.” He looked at me. “Elena, she saved my life. I’m not going to gamble with her safety just because you’re in a mood.”

“What about my feelings, Nate?”

“You’re family. You should be the one who understands me best.”

Because you’re not an outsider, you don’t need to be cared for. He had used that excuse for years.

I ripped the badge off and set it on the table. “I’m not going. I don't accept this.”

Nate didn't get angry. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out an old camera. It was a vintage silver Leica with a tiny piece of blue tape on the side. My camera. The one I’d lost two years ago.

“I got it fixed,” he said.

I took it, my thumb brushing the power button. The roll of film I’d never finished was still inside. Two years ago, it had been water-damaged, and every shop said it was a lost cause. Nate must have hunted down a specialist.

“When did you find it?”

“Six months ago.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I wanted to give it to you at Cape Point.” He put the badge back in my palm. “Take it with you. When the cameras stop, I’ll send everyone else away. It’ll just be us for the last card.”

The screen flickered to life. For a second, my resolve crumbled. It was only seven days. Maybe after the show, he really would come back to me.

I put the badge back on.

Serena picked up her water glass, stopping just before she took a sip. “Nate, is this the camera you asked my cousin about? The one who specializes in old optics?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah. He did a great job.”

“No wonder he sent it to my place,” Serena said, leaning back. “I actually tested it out with a few rolls. The clarity is amazing.”

I froze. I scrolled through the digital gallery.

The most recent photo was of Serena standing by a window, wearing one of Nate’s white button-downs. The next was of her curled up on a sofa, covered in the grey cashmere throw I’d given Nate for his birthday. The timestamp was the night before the press conference.

“You were at his house?”

“We were going over the schedule,” Serena said smoothly. “I spilled coffee on my shirt, so he lent me one. Don't overthink it, Elena.”

Nate took the camera and deleted the photos. “The director and the assistant were there, too. We weren't alone.”

“And the blanket?”

“She fell asleep. I just threw it over her.”

The blanket I’d bought him when I first moved in. He’d hated the color, but he’d never let the housekeeper take it away. Now, it was just something to "throw over" someone else.

I took the badge off again.

Nate grabbed my hand. “I got your camera fixed. What more do you want?”

“I want out.”

“Stop being childish.”

“I’m not going to the Cape, and I’m not waiting for a wedding.”

He looked at me for a few seconds, then actually laughed. “Another breakup threat, Elena?”

“This isn't a threat.”

“Fine.” He shoved the camera into my bag. “We’ll talk when you get back from the PNW. For now, do your job.”

The director handed me the new production book. The cover was glossy. Nate & Serena: 100 Wishes at Cape Point.

Inside, tucked into the back sleeve, was my final postcard. Its four corners had been neatly clipped off to fit the frame.