My voice is barely audible.“Thank you… for the driveway.And the steps.”
His blue eyes are lighter than I have seen them in a long time, and slowly, he nods.
Then he just… stands there, taking me in under the soft, pale wash of winter light.
Like he wants to memorize me, in case he never gets to see me up close again.
And maybe he does know, perhaps some instinct in him recognizes that the old Nate would’ve stayed too long, pushed too hard.He gives me the thing I never thought he’d learn how to give.
He turns and walks away without a word, back to his truck.
And I stand there in my doorway with soup warming my palms and pain stinging my throat, watching him go, and for the first time since our world cracked open, the clouds shift, just enough for one thin, trembling ray of light to break through.
Chapter 40 - Tessa
I’m so tired of feeling tired.I am tired of crying, tired of feeling so fucking miserable.
This exhaustion is not just physical, though that’s part of it.It’s the kind of exhaustion that sits behind the ribs, whispering, wearing you thin, turning every small task into a mountain you don’t remember ever climbing before.
The flu, I tell myself.It's stress, heartbreak...Pick any reason; they all fit.
It’s been weeks since New Year’s.Weeks of sleeping in short bursts.Weeks of forcing food into my mouth because my hands shake if I don’t.Weeks of crying until my skull feels hollow.And the dizziness…
It’s been creeping up on me like a shadow that waits for the quiet moments.The moments when I stand too fast or bend over...or breathe wrong.
This morning, I’m standing in the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around me like armour, staring at the open fridge as if the right food might heal me.The cold air prickles against my skin.But nothing looks good, nothing smells good.Even my favourite granola bar makes my stomach flip.
“I can't keep going like this,” I mutter to myself, pressing a palm to my forehead.My skin feels clammy."You are not this woman, Tessa.Pull it together."
I move away from the fridge and lean on the counter, pulling out the notepad where I keep my grocery lists.Bread.Tea.Chicken.Applesauce, maybe.Crackers.
I feel like a child at home, sick from school.I blink at the half-written list, force my pen to keep moving, and then...My hand stops completely.
A sharp breath punches out of me.
Pads.
When did I last buy pads?I flip through the previous pages of the notepad in a blind panic, checking old lists.Groceries, barn supplies, vet tech notes, feed pickup, but no pads, not even tampons.That feels… wrong.
My cycles were always unpredictable...and added stress, grief, the years of my body learning survival patterns instead of stability.Missing one isn’t unusual...But missing so many that I can’t even recall themonth?
My stomach drops hard.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head.“I’m not, it’s not, I’m just tired.I’m sick.That’s all.”
But my body answers in its own traitorous ways all the telltale signs I have been avoiding looking at too closely, the dizziness, nausea, brain fog, the bone-deep heaviness...The way my clothes have been fitting differently, my jeans tighter in weird places, and the waistbands I thought were shrinking in the wash.
The sudden metallic taste in my mouth, headaches and the way my heart has been hammering from just walking up the stairs.
Everything inside me goes very, very still.
I find myself in the bathroom without remembering how I got there.I stare at myself in the mirror.I look pale.Strained.Like a ghost of the girl, I was in October.
I press both hands to the sink, and the words slip out before I can stop them:
“Oh...What if I am?”
I grab my keys before I can talk myself out of it, shove a hat over my head, tuck loose hair into my hoodie, and drive into town with the kind of tunnel vision that feels like autopilot.
