Shay squeezes my hand, thumb brushing the back of it once, gently. “Wyatt’s steady,” she says softly. “Steady is a rarity. Steady is a gift.”
I swallow hard. Steady is something I learned not to believe in.
She watches me, reading the shift in my expression like she used to read test questions back in school—always quietly ahead of the curve.
“You can trust him,” she says. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”
Her words land like a weight and a lifeline at once.
My gaze drifts to the window, where the snow thickens again, swirling in the wind like the world is being reset.Start over,it whispers.Try again.
I want to. I want to try.
Maisie sighs at my feet, thumping her tail against the floor, and something inside me loosens another fraction. It feels like the cabin itself is exhaling, inviting me to do the same.
“Everything feels… too good,” I admit. “Like if I breathe too deeply, it’ll disappear.”
Shay leans in a little. “Sadie, listen to me.” Her voice is soft but firm. “Good doesn’t disappear. People do. Fear does. Danger does. But good?” She smiles. “Good digs in.”
“I’m not sure if I know how to stay anywhere.”
“You do,” she counters. “You stayed with your father when he was dying. You stayed in school because it was the right thing for you. And you stayed with a wounded dog last night without thinking twice.”
She tips her head, eyes warm. “You stay when it matters.”
No one has ever reframed my survival as something strong instead of something shameful.
I tense as I hear footsteps crunching in the snow outside.
Shay glances at the window. “It’s okay. It’s only Wyatt,” she murmurs.
Sure enough, the door opens, and he steps inside, wind scattering snow from his coat. His eyes sweep the room like it’s a habit before landing on me.
They soften.
Every time he looks at me like that, something warm unfurls inside my chest, something that terrifies me and calms me at the same time.
He glances at Shay. “Everything good?”
Shay smiles. “Everything’s good.”
“Vet’s here,” Wyatt says, keeping his gaze on me. “Told him to wait in the car. He needs to check on Maisie.”
For a second, my gut clenches. Another man. Another stranger in a space that’s just starting to feel like mine.
But then Shay’s hand squeezes mine again, grounding me.
Wyatt doesn’t push, doesn’t assume.
He waits.
The choice is mine.
“I’m okay,” I say, standing slowly. “Let him in.”
Wyatt nods once and steps back outside. Shay rises beside me, brushing a hand over Maisie’s head as she lifts it from the blanket.
When the vet enters, he’s friendly and no-nonsense—Dr. Ewan Blake, according to the patch on his coat. Snow-dusted boots, kind eyes, soft voice. He greets us with a nod, then crouches beside Maisie and starts his exam with quiet efficiency.
