I don’t know why I keep talking. I’ve never been one for conversation. But something about the way she’s looking at me, curious and engaged, makes me want to tell her everything.
“It’s beautiful,” I admit. “Especially in winter. The snow covers everything, but the cabins stay warm. There’s a central fire pit where the clan gathers. My mother used to take me and Ronan there when we were cubs, let us play in the snow while the adults talked.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.” I stare at my plate. “I miss it sometimes.”
“Then why don’t you go back?”
The question is gentle, but it cuts deep.
“I told you. My pride?—“
“Your pride.” She says it flatly. “You gave up your family, your home, your entire community because of pride?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It sounds exactly that simple.”
I look up at her, ready to argue, but the expression on her face stops me. She’s not judging. She’s not criticizing. She’s just... seeing me. Seeing the wound I’ve been hiding.
“I couldn’t stand to be second,” I say quietly. “Couldn’tstand to watch Ronan lead when I’d spent my whole life believing it would be me. Every time I looked at him, all I could see was my own failure.”
“So you ran away.”
“I left. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
She’s quiet for a moment, pushing vegetables around her plate. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“I didn’t have a family growing up. Not really. Foster homes, group houses, never anywhere permanent.” She looks up at me. “I would have given anything for what you have. A mother who loves you. A brother who spared your life when he didn’t have to. A whole community of people who share your blood.”
The words hit hard.
“And you just... walked away from it. Because you couldn’t be in charge.”
“Imani—“
“I’m not trying to be cruel.” She holds up a hand. “I’m just saying. From where I’m sitting, you have something precious. And you’re letting pride keep you from it.”
I stare at her, this woman who grew up with nothing, who built herself from scratch, who came to my cabin to scrub floors because she was saving for a chair.
She’s right. She’s absolutely right.
“They want me to come back,” I say. “My mother. Ronan. They keep asking.”
“Then maybe you should.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Nothing worth having is easy.” She picks up her fork again. “But you have people who love you. That’s more than a lot of us get.”
We finish dinner without another word. But it’s not awkward. Something shifted between us, and we both feel it.
I watch her eat, watch the way her face relaxes as she enjoys the food she made. She’s beautiful. Soft and warm and everything I don’t deserve.
