“If we do this,” she had written to herself, “the world will never see us as separate. They’ll write our story before we live it. But I think that’s the only way I’ll ever learn to trust someone again—if the script is already ruined from the start.”

He shook his head. “Epilogue.”

“That you buried a letter under a chapel before we even fell in love?” He paused. “No. But I knew you were always trying to outrun the story. I just didn’t realize you were writing the ending before the beginning.”