Page 52 of Somewhere Without You

Forty Nine

The thunder of battle cry shattered the silence. I stepped forward into the tent, the air thick with smoke and the scent of wet earth. The ground beneath my feet squelched with mud and god only knows what else.

The interior was dim, but a single candle flickered on a writing desk at the far end, casting soft light across the canvas walls.

In the distance, a horse whinnied, followed by the deafening boom of a cannon.

I looked down, startled to see a floor-length wine colored gown soaked at the hem with dirt and rain.

I knew exactly where I was.

Still, I moved toward the desk, needing confirmation. Letters lay scattered in messy piles across the surface, and an overturned ink bottle had spilled its contents, dark liquid bleeding over the edge.

Her name was scrawled across every envelope, the ink looping in a hand I recognized too well. As I sifted through the letters, paper whispering beneath my fingers, the sudden rip of the tent flaps startled me.

“Charlotte?”

I turned, my breath catching.

James stood in the entrance, framed by the chaos behind him. The gold buttons of his dark blue uniform glinted in the candlelight, his coat soaked through and streaked with mud. Blood clung to his trousers in thick smears, the crimson echoing the sash knotted at his waist.

“God’s teeth,”he breathed, his voice ragged.“It’s really you.”

In two strides, he was in front of me.

I didn’t hesitate. I fell into him, the past collapsing between us.

“James,”I whispered, my voice trembling against his shoulder.“I thought you were dead,”I said, breathless.“Finnigan told me—”I stopped short, pulling back just enough to see his face.“Wait. . . what did you call me?”

James brushed a gloved hand over my hair, the leather rough against my skin.“Charlotte,”he said affectionately.“That is your name, is it not?”

“No. . .”My heart stuttered.“James, it’s me. It’s Emily.”

His smile wavered for a heartbeat, then widened again—broadening the dimples peeking out beneath a week’s worth of stubble.

“Of course it is,”he said.“You must think me mad not to recognize my own wife.”

Wife?

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, tarnished mirror.“Here,”he said, offering it to me.“See for yourself.”

I stared at it, suddenly afraid.

But my fingers moved on their own, unclasping the tiny metal latch on the copper lid. It creaked open, and I tilted the mirror toward the candlelight.

The face staring back wasn’t mine.

Her features were familiar, but barely—like seeing yourself in a dream. Auburn hair pinned neatly under a lace cap, cheeks smudged with soot and war fatigue. Her eyes were the same coppery brown as mine, but older somehow. She wore my bones like a memory—close, but not quite mine.

I blinked, but the reflection didn’t change.

“What is this?”I whispered, my voice barely audible over the distant rumble of cannon fire.“Why do I look like her?”

James placed his hand over mine.“You know why. Deep down, you’ve always known.”

“I don’t understand,”I said, still staring into the mirror.

“I’m not Charlotte. I’m Emily. I was—”I paused, the images fracturing in my head.

Flashes of long-forgotten memories flickered between us.

The two of us on our wedding night, wrapped in the warmth of each other as the shadow of war crept closer.

Our final goodbye—James holding me tight until he no longer could. His rich chocolate hair swept over his eyes as the sound of his horse faded into the distance beside Finn’s.

Then suddenly, I was bedridden, frail, weak, and coughing up blood. Until, finally, there was nothing.

My stomach flipped.

“Oh my God. I’m. . . her,”I breathed.“Or I was. Once.”

I snapped the mirror shut and turned away, heart pounding. It all made sense now—the letters, the satchel, that quiet, persistent ache in my chest. The feeling that we’d done this before.

“What are we now?” I asked.

Pain and wonder etched across his face. “I think we’re what happens when love doesn’t end the way it was supposed to.”

I looked at James, and knew with bone-deep certainty that I had been his wife, Charlotte. That we had loved each other fiercely in some forgotten time.

But that would mean. . .

“Logan,”I said, his name ripping from my mouth like a gasp.“Where is he? If I was once Charlotte, and we were meant to be. . . what does that make me now, as Emily, to Logan?”

James leaned in, his lips brushing mine as he whispered,“Whatever life you’re living, Charlotte or Emily. . . I will find you in every one.”

Then he kissed me. It was hard and desperate, like time itself was collapsing around us. Like he had waited lifetimes for this moment and couldn’t afford to waste it.

My arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer as the sound of death echoed around us. I didn’t want to let go. I held him like he was the last real thing in a world unraveling.

Outside, the wind howled, rising into a storm as the canvas tent flapped violently around us. I wanted to scream at the world to stop. Just for a second. To give us one more minute before everything came undone. But time didn’t pause for love. It never had.

I pulled back to tell him all the things I never had the chance to say. That I loved him. That I was here. That I remembered. But James was no longer James.

He was Logan.

The ground beneath us shifted, and the walls of the tent melted away, revealing wisps of clouds drifting lazily overhead. Around us, tall grass swayed in rhythm with the breeze, and somewhere nearby, bees hummed over wildflowers.

We were lying on our backs in the field behind the farmhouse, the sun warming my face. Logan’s hand was laced with mine, our fingers threaded together like we’d done a thousand times before.

“You found me,”I said, tears slipping quietly into my hair.“Across time. Across death. You found me.”

He squeezed my hand.“I always will.”

“I remember now.”My voice wavered, not from uncertainty but awe.“You were James, just like I was Charlotte. Different names. Different lives. But the same us.”

He looked over at me, his tawny eyes warm and bright.“Crazy huh?”

A gentle breeze drifted between us, rustling the tall grass as we lay side by side. I knew what him being here meant, and I wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet.

“I think I liked being James,”he said.“There was something about galloping across open fields with the wind at my back, riding a horse that didn’t want to be tamed.”

I rolled my eyes.“You just miss the uniform.”

“Can you blame me?”He laughed.“Those coats were kind of badass.”

I nudged him gently.“You only liked them because they made your shoulders look heroic.”

Logan grinned.“They did look heroic. And don’t even get me started on the boots. I had a whole strut going on.”

“Oh, I remember,”I said, laughing now.“God you were so dramatic, you still are.”

“I was committed,”he said proudly.“James was a man of principle—and flair.”

We lay there for a moment longer, catching our breath from the laughter. And for a fleeting second, it was easy to pretend none of this was temporary. That this moment, this fragile joy, could last.

He turned his head toward me, eyes soft.“You know, if we get another life, I hope I meet you somewhere crazy. Like ancient Greece, or maybe a pirate ship.”

“Oh, definitely a pirate ship,”I said, laughing.“You’d make a terrible pirate.”

“I’d be amazing,”he insisted.“I’d have a sword, and a tragic backstory. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

I smiled, my voice soft.“I never do.”

He leaned forward, brushing his knuckles along my cheek, the touch both real and not.“I wish we had more time. Real time. Not this space between.”

The ache in my chest returned.“We never get enough, do we?”

“No,”he said, sadly.“But we make it count.”

I sat up beside him, brushing the grass from my palms, blinking hard.“What happens when I wake up?”

“You live,”he said.“You keep living. For both of us.”

“But how?”My voice fractured, the weight of it all finally breaking through.“How do I walk back into the world knowing you’re not in it—knowing I have to go on living somewhere without you?”

Logan reached for my hand, grounding me.“You’ll find me again. We always do.”

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder.“It’s always been you.”

“And it always will be,” he promised.

The wind stirred again, whispering through the field like a final breath, and I knew, deep down, that the moment was ending.

“It’s time to go, Em.”

I turned my face back to the sky, the clouds now shifting into something new. And for the first time in what felt like centuries, I wasn’t torn between lives. I wasn’t Charlotte or Emily. I was both. And he was mine.

Then.Now.Always.