“Well, I’m not going to,” I say. “Not tonight. I’ve said enough. She’s said enough. If I walk in there now, it’ll only make things worse.”
Silence falls.
I shove my hands in my pockets and pace the hall, boots dragging. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been meddling.”
The lamp flares once, then steadies.
“Maybe you’re right to meddle. Maybe I’ve been irrational.” My throat tightens, the words scraping on the way out. “But I can’t do it tonight. Not when every look between us feels like tinder waiting on a spark. Not when she’s got me twisted into fucking knots.”
The chandelier gives a single, mournful chime.
She’s afraid. We both are. That Elsie will use this as the perfect excuse to leave. She’s a bolter. That’s what she does when things get hard.
And the worst part is, I was supposed to be the reason she stayed. I was supposed to make it easier for her to believe she could belong here again. I tried. God, I tried. But some days, it feels impossible to hold steady for someone else when you’re barely keeping your own balance.
“You’re not losing her forever,” I tell the house. “Trust me on that.”
She doesn’t answer, but the walls seem closer somehow, pressing in like they want to hold me steady, too. Elsie’s thefavorite, but I’ve still been faithful. I’ve beenhere. That has to count for something.
I take the silence as a sign and head for the stairs. Not a word from the house this time. No creak, no sigh. Instead, it’s Elspeth’s voice I hear when I’m alone in my room.Come on. Don’t fold now.
I kick off my boots, drag my sweater over my head, and let myself sink into the mattress.
Outside, the storm slashes at the windows. Inside, the quiet presses in close—until I hear it again. The soft rasp of paper. The familiar weight in my wallet.
That letter. Folded smooth at the seams from being read too many times already. Waiting, always, for me.
Wells, my fox,
You’ve always been sly about your kindness. You sneak it in sideways, as if helping were something to hide. But I see it. I’ve always seen it.
You’ve lifted more than beams and banisters in this house. You’ve carried the weight of the winters, the leaks, the endless repairs that would have sent another man running. You’ve carried the inn when I was too tired to, and though I know you don’t like me to say it, you’ve carried me, too.
I don’t think you realize what you’ve given me. It wasn’t just the roof mended or the steps sanded smooth. It was companionship. It was laughter at the supper table when I thought I’d eat alone. It was someone to argue with about whether hydrangeaswere worth the water bill. It was a life extended. At the end, you gave me a life richer than I had any right to ask for.
I know my time here is shortening. The house tells me so, in the way it creaks at night, in the way it sighs when I climb the stairs. It’s all right. I’ve had my years. But I want you to hear me plain: I trust you. I trust this place in your capable hands.
One day, Elsie will come back. She’ll be thorny and stubborn, half convinced she doesn’t belong here. She’ll carry her guilt like a stone in her pocket. But you—of all people—you’ll know what to do.
Not because she needs saving. She never has. But because she deserves someone who will look at her as if she’s worth the fight. She deserves patience, devotion, understanding. And you deserve her, too, if you’re brave enough to let yourself have her.
I watched her grow. That girl always wanted to run fast, faster than the rest of us could keep up with. She thought she had to earn her place, even here, even with me. She never saw that she already was the place.
I can’t take that stone of guilt from her hand, Wells, but you can help her set it down. When shereturns, please don’t let her slip away. Don’t let your fear or hers trick you into thinking this house isn’t big enough for both your wounds.
It is. It always has been.
I can see you both growing old here, trading chores and quarrels, holding hands at the porch rail. I can see you carrying her laughter and stubbornness the way you’ve carried me.
The house will love you for it, I know. And I think, if you let her, Elsie will love you for it, too.
Take care of her, my fox. Take care of yourself.
With all my love,
Elspeth
I press my thumb to the signature, the ink faded from years hidden in the attic. Why didn’t she give it to me before she passed? Did she mean for me to find it only when Elsie returned? Or did she merely trust the house to deliver it when the time was right?
