I guess I can’t lie to myself and say I’m not happy about this.
Deep down, I know it hasn’t been enough, just seeing her around here and there. I’ve found reasons to be near her. Fixing things. Dropping by.
And yeah, maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s crossing a line we agreed not to cross.
But they’re not just excuses. They are things I want to help with.
Things that matter to her.
And if I can make her day a little easier, a little quieter, then maybe that’s enough.
Even if it’s just for a moment.
I’ve been aching to spend more time with her. Even with my hands full. Even with every excuse to stay distracted.
And every time I’ve been here with this little one, my thoughts drift to Stormy, to how much I think she’d adore her.
Then Stormy steps fully into view, and just like every time I see her—whether it’s from a distance, as we pass each other, or when I catch her in the garden, back to reading in the mornings—my heart beats just a little harder.
She hesitates at the stall door, her eyes going wide as they settle on the foal. Her hand lifts to her mouth. Her eyes are unbelievably blue, sparklingwith the magic of new life, and her expression is filled with wonder and tenderness. She steps forward slowly, like she’s afraid of startling her.
“Oh my goodness,” Stormy whispers, crouching just inside the stall. “I didn’t realise she’d be so small.”
“She’s still finding her feet,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady. “But she’s strong. Got a bit of fight in her.”
The foal shifts slightly, and I stroke her neck again, murmuring something soft under my breath. Stormy watches, her eyes flitting between me and the little one, and I see the moment she falls for her. It’s written all over her face.
“Come and say hi, if you want,” I encourage, gesturing with my free hand for her to come closer.
Stormy steps in slowly, her boots crunching softly over the hay. She kneels beside me, placing her hand gently on the foal’s back.
“She’s so soft,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s beautiful.”
I glance sideways, watching her smile. ‘Just like you,’I want to tell her, but instead I say, “She is.”
Something in my chest tightens, and I fight not to continue staring.
Stormy strokes the foal’s back in slow, gentle circles, her gaze soft.
“Missy told me her mum rejected her,” she says quietly, not looking up.
“Yeah. Didn’t take to her,” I nod, keeping my voice steady. I pause, glancing around over to where Star is. “Could be everything she went through before she got here. Her old home wasn’t kind. Might’ve been too much for her. Or maybe she just doesn’t know what to do with her.”
Stormy’s eyes flick towards Star, her brow creasing.
“That breaks my heart,” she murmurs. “She’s just an animal. She didn’t ask for any of that.”
I glance at Stormy. She looks like she understands. Not just what Star’s been through, but also what it feels like to be broken.
I see it, the compassion and the understanding, etched into her expression.
She turns back to the foal in my arms, her voice softening even more.
“Your poor mummy,” she whispers, brushing her fingers gently over the foal’s ear. “But how could anybody leave you?”
I don’t say anything right away. She’s talking to the foal, I know that. But the words land somewhere deep. People have left. Some quietly, and some without even saying goodbye.
But hearing her say that, even if it’s not meant for me, something in my chest loosens. Warms. Like hearing it from her makes me think she won’t leave.
