I blink. Liam freezes beside me. His face morphs into something like horror probably mirroring my expression.
“The what?” I croak.
“You heard me. Baby-making room. Worked for me and Teddy. Worked for three of our kids and their partners. Hopefully, you two will catch a little of that magic, too.”
I open my mouth ready to beg, plead, or sob for another room.
But before I can get the words out, Bessie pats my arm and backs away, still smiling like she knows some secret the rest of us haven't figured out yet.
“Dinner’s at seven,” she calls cheerfully down the hall. “And we won’t hold it against you if you’re a little late!”
The door clicks shut.
Leaving me and Liam alone.
In the baby-making room.
Silence crashes over us like a wave. Thick. Suffocating. I stare at the bed like it might bite me. Liam clears his throat, low and awkward.
“I’ll, uh…” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I force a laugh, brittle and sharp. “You don’t have to do that.”
He glances at the bed again, then at me. Then shakes his head.
“I want to.”
Another beat of silence. Another thousand things left unsaid. I turn toward the closet, pretending to be fascinated by the ancient cedar chest tucked against the wall.
“Maybe you should,” I say quietly. “Might be the safest thing for both of us.”
Liam grabs a pillow and a blanket without a word. Moves to the farthest corner of the room, like even breathing the same air as me is too much now. He settles against the wall, dropping down with a heavy, graceless thud.
A small, wounded, vindictive part wants to say something, o poke at him, to make this as unbearable for him as it is for me. But I don't. Because what’s the point?
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaks under my weight. I pull out my tablet, flipping it open,pretending to be absorbed in work. Pretending my heart isn’t lying in pieces on the floor between us.
My inbox is a mess. Updates from ranch suppliers, messages from event coordinators, sale alerts from stores I used to love but suddenly feel too old and tired to care about.
And then an email that stops me cold. It’s from the ranch I applied to. The one in Wichita.
I shoot a glance at Liam. He’s sprawled on the floor, phone in hand, thumb scrolling lazily across the screen. I know better than to hope he's looking at cattle sales or equipment orders. A sharp, acidic stab of jealousy punches through me. Is he texting the blonde? Making plans for after I'm gone? Replacing me before I’ve even walked out the door?
The thought makes my hands shake as I click open the email.
It’s basic. Polite. Professional. They've heard of my reputation and my work ethic, and they want to offer me a position. No formal interview needed. Still, they invite me out to see the ranch and to meet the team.
I stare at the screen for a long moment. Then, with a deep, shaking breath, I type a response.
Connie,
I’d love to visit the ranch. Two weeks from now would be perfect. Thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to meeting you all.
Best,
Olive Fiegel
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. Before the heartbreak convinces me to stay trapped in something that's already bleeding me dry. The email pings away into the universe, a small, irreversible act of defiance.
