“Yeah,” I say. “My family can be… a lot.”
“I can handle a lot.”
“I know.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and the room feels smaller.
“You’ve been carrying this alone for a long time,” she says.
I pause. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to tomorrow.”
The words hit harder than she knows.
I open my mouth to answer—thank her, warn her, I don’t know—but before I can sort out the mess in my chest, another sound interrupts us.
The crunch of tires on snow.
My stomach drops.
Natalie looks toward the window, startled. “Are they… early?”
“No.” I wipe my hands on a towel. “They said tomorrow.”
But the sound is unmistakable—an engine struggling up the last incline, headlights cutting through the drifting snow.
Natalie steps closer to me without thinking.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
I exhale slowly. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
The headlights grow brighter. The shadows shift across the cabin walls. The jeep door slams outside.
Footsteps draw closer and closer. Onto the porch.
Then—
Three sharp knocks.
Natalie whispers, “Oh god.”
I whisper, “Yeah.”
She squeezes her clipboard like a lifeline.
I reach the door, hand hovering over the knob.
Heart steady. Chest tight. And a single, undeniable thought circling my mind:
I’m not ready for this. But with her beside me. I might be.
I open the door.
And everything changes.
THIRTEEN
