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Mac took a breath, forced himself to meet her eyes. “Our finances, and what you need to know to access our accounts. I’m making sure you and Noah have what you need.”

“We’re doing fine with what we have,” she said quietly.

“This is different,” Mac explained, opening the folder to reveal a thick document with Post-it notes marking specific pages. “This outlines the investment strategy. Gordon Winters manages it; he’s conservative but gets solid returns. He is also managing Noah’s trust from Truman, and this one is your account he set up for you. You don’t have to touch it if you don’t want to. All of the day-to-day expenses should be paid through our joint accounts. You can reach him at this number if you have questions.”

Kelsey scanned the numbers, and her face blanched as she absorbed the information. “There’s a lot of zeros here,” she whispered, then stared at him. Her expression shifted from confusion to something more troubled. “Mac, why are you doing this now?”

He shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Just being practical. You shouldn’t have to worry about money.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Mac shuffled papers to avoid her searching gaze. “I also want you to know that you don’t have to keep working if you don’t want to. There’s more than enough—”

“I like my job,” she interrupted.

“I know. I’m just saying you have options. I know it can get hectic for you, with Noah. You could cut back if you wanted, or quit altogether.” He closed the folder and tapped it with his fingertips. “If you’re concerned about health care on the island, you could take a position on the clinic board. Use some of our resources to improve services for the islanders. Your expertise would be valuable.”

Kelsey remained silent, studying him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. When she finally spoke, her voice was carefully measured.

“You’re leaving?”

Mac had rehearsed this conversation in his mind, prepared reasonable explanations, but now that the moment had arrived, the words felt inadequate.

“I’ve always planned to,” he said finally. “Once Grandad was…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know that,” Kelsey said. “But this doesn’t feel like you’re planning a six-month sailing trip. This feels like you’re handing over your entire life to us. Like you’re leaving forever.”

Mac walked to the window, looking out at the bay where the Nereid sat moored, white hull gleaming in the afternoon sun. “It was always the plan. Before any of this happened.”

“Before us, you mean.”

The simple statement cut through his careful evasions. He turned to face her and found an unreadable expression that somehow made this harder.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Before us.”

Kelsey leaned against the desk, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “And now?”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, searching for some hint of what she was feeling beneath the composed exterior, surprised that he wanted to see what she was keeping closely guarded.

Mac’s hand clenched involuntarily at his side. “Now, everything’s complicated. You. Noah. I didn’t plan for any of it.”

“Neither did I,” Kelsey said quietly. “But here we are.”

He faced her again and struggled to articulate the conflict raging within him. “I need to go, Kelsey. I can’t stay.”

Something flickered briefly across her face, disappointment, perhaps, or resignation, before her expression settled back into careful neutrality. “I see.”

“Do you?” he asked, suddenly desperate to break through the wall of composure she’d erected.

“You want to leave,” she said simply. “That’s clear enough.”

“That’s not—” Mac broke off, frustrated. How could he explain the pull of the open ocean, the need for solitude to sort through the tangled mess of grief his life was? How could he make her understand when he barely understood it himself?

“It’s okay, Mac,” Kelsey said. Her voice was gentle but distant. “You don’t owe us anything. The marriage was a legal arrangement that served its purpose. You deserve to go on with your life.”

The clinical assessment of what had grown between them landed like a slap. “Is that all it is to you? A legal arrangement?”

“You tell me. You’re the one making exit plans,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. For the first time, her composure wavered slightly.