I still felt its claws embedded deep within me.
Nights were the worst.I’d fall asleep with my laptop open, journals scattered, only to wake gasping from half-dreams that weren’t dreams at all.The memories were relentless.Andrew’s voice in my ear, his hand over my mouth.The way his eyes had burned like I was his to claim.The way they shifted from kind to cruel.I tried to write through it, to funnel it into the story I was building, but sometimes the words locked up, and I’d sit staring at the screen until dawn, stomach clenched, fingers aching.
Some mornings, I wouldn't even realize I had spent the night wrapped in a blanket, rocking while staring at the screen.Not until the sound of my family's morning routine reached my ears snapping me out of the memory fog I was stuck in.
Marin’s emails stacked in my inbox, her encouragement threaded with urgency.We were close to finalizing a contract.The team loved my writing, believed in my voice.And yet, every time I tried to write the scene where Andrew’s lies unravelled, where I saw the truth about him, my chest tightened until I couldn’t breathe.
And I hadn't even attempted to write the scene where he...where he tried to take more than I was willing to give.
I knew writing our story would be difficult, but I hadn't expected it to bethishard.To stir up so many emotions.The suffocating feeling of the weight of what we actually were.
So that morning, I walked.
The Morgan land stretched forever, stitched with old trails I’d known since childhood.The sun was warm on my back, but my thoughts stayed tangled, heavy.Were the charges against Andrew enough?Would the Brooks family find another way to twist it, another connection to lean on, another cop to look the other way?The whispers in town hadn’t fully stopped.Some days, I felt like I was healing.Others, like I was one whisper away from being broken all over again.
By the time I crested the hill at the far edge of our property, sweat dampened my shirt, and the ache in my legs had dulled my thoughts.That’s when I saw it, the clearing.
It opened like a secret: a wide stretch of meadow, grasses already high and swaying, rimmed by tall trees catching the light.Beyond it, I could just make out the Palmers’ barns.This must be the property line.
It hit me all at once.
This.Here.
The words slipped out before I could stop them, my breath catching in my throat.“I’m going to build my home here.”
“Funny,” a voice said behind me.
I startled so hard I nearly tripped, spinning around with my heart hammering in my ears.My fists clenched, ready to defend myself, before my brain caught up, before my eyes found him.
Brody.
He stood a few paces back, hands in his pockets, hair pushed back under a backwards baseball cap, but still a little unruly; his was well-worn, frayed at the edges.But his eyes… they were steady, watching me with something I couldn’t name.
“Jesus, you scared me,” I snapped, breath rushing out too fast.“What are you doing out here?”
One side of his mouth tugged up.“I was about to ask you the same thing.You look like you just staked a claim.”
“I did,” I said before I could stop myself, turning back toward the clearing.My voice came out softer, steadier.“I’m going to build my home here.”
Silence stretched.Then his laugh, low and warm.
I frowned, whipping back toward him.“What’s so funny?”
He walked closer, his boots sinking into the soft ground, until he was beside me, looking out at the meadow.“Because you picked the one piece of land my family never sold, but have listed for sale.This is ours.”
For a moment, embarrassment flushed hot under my skin.Of course it was.Of course, the Palmers still owned the one spot that felt like mine.I shook my head, huffing out a bitter laugh.“Figures.”
But when I looked back at him, he wasn’t teasing anymore.His face was serious, softened around the edges.“You really want to build here?”
I nodded, throat tight.“Yeah.I do.It feels… safe.Like I could finally breathe here.”
His gaze held mine, intense and unflinching.The world seemed to narrow, just the two of us standing in the quiet green, the air thick with things unsaid.Things still unknown.
“You want help?”he asked finally.His voice was low, but it vibrated through me, deeper than the words themselves.
I let out a shaky breath, searching his face, the earnestness there, the steadiness.
“Maybe I do,” I whispered.
