After the meeting, I found Kelly standing near the hallway window.
Her arms were folded.
Her expression was pale.
When she saw me, she stepped forward.
“Jeffrey?”
I tried to smile.
Couldn't.
She looked toward my face.
Then whispered, “I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“If I hadn't forgotten—”
“Kelly.”
She stopped.
I stepped closer.
“You were eighteen years old.”
Her lips trembled.
“You were hurt.”
I took a breath.
“You didn't cause that accident. You didn't decide how the evidence was handled. And you don't owe us three years of memories you couldn't access.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Then she whispered, “I wish I could've told you sooner.”
I nodded.
“So do I.”
For a moment, we stood quietly.
Then I said something I'd been carrying since the bracelet appeared.
“You know what I keep thinking about?”
She shook her head.
“That there was a young woman on a freezing road who saw a little girl in danger and went toward her.”
Kelly covered her mouth.
I continued.
“She didn't know Ava. She didn't know Hannah. She didn't know me.”
My voice broke.
“But she tried to help.”
Kelly began crying.
I took a careful breath.
“And I don't care whether you remember every second. I know enough to be grateful.”
She looked toward me.
Then whispered, “I don't want you to love me because of that.”
The words stopped me.
For several seconds, I couldn't answer.
Kelly seemed to regret speaking.
She lowered her eyes.
“I mean…”
She swallowed.
“I don't want you to feel like you have to.”
I stared at her.
The hallway was quiet.
Beyond the window, snow was falling.
Then I understood.
She had noticed.
The way I looked forward to seeing her.
The way my voice softened when she arrived.
The way I sometimes wanted to reach for her hand and stopped myself.
I took a breath.
“Kelly.”
She looked up.
“Whatever I feel for you isn't payment for something that happened three years ago.”
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
“But we shouldn't figure it out in the middle of an investigation, while you're dealing with so much.”
She studied me.
Then nodded.
“I know.”
I looked toward her.
“And there's the age difference. Ava. Your life. My life.”
Kelly smiled sadly.
“I know all those things too.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she whispered, “I still know what I feel.”