"Hadn't planned on it," he says, just continuing to stack the hay, still turned. I cross my arms, leaning against the side of his truck.
"Knox," I push, "I'm staying on their property. After whatever hell broke loose last night, I think I deserve to know if I’m in danger."
"They won't let anything happen to you," he says. His voice is certain. It almost convinces me.
"I need to know," I insist, being more vulnerable with him now. Knox drops the bale with a soft thud and turns to face me.
"Alright," he wipes sweat off his brow. "You remember the other night when they were burning down that barn?"
I nod. "So, the owners of that barn, they blew up PJ's truck?” I ask, piecing it all together. “A truck that—God forbid—could have blown up with her in it, all because of some kind of retaliation?"
"You don't understand, Sawyer. It's some rivalry that goes back generations. They go back and forth—the Kennedys do something to the Stetsons, the Stetsons do something back." He sighs. "Just been getting more wild lately than it’s ever been. But from what I gathered, whoever got PJ's car... Stetsons got them back worse."
"So, what happens if they try to do something even worse next?"
"Trust me. If I know the Stetsons, they've already got some kinda plan to stay ahead of it. You don’t need to worry about it."
How can I not worry? I’ve lived in the city for years. I’ve seen my fair share of chaos, but nothing like the mess I witnessed last night.
If anything had happened to PJ… Nope. Not going there. My anxiety’s already doing backflips.
"But I do need you to start working on figuring out our problems," he adds, nodding towards the farmhouse I grew up in. The porch looks like it’s one step away from becoming a pile of wood. My dad sits in his rocker, holding an oversized cup of coffee.
The dust kicks up in small clouds around my boots as I make the reluctant journey across the yard. "Wish me luck," I call over my shoulder, forcing one foot in front of the other.
"Daddy, look around," I say, gently approaching.
His tired eyes drift across the horizon that cradles our land. The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. "My favorite morning view," he murmurs.
I squint against the harsh glare of the sun. "Is it? BecauseI see a chicken coop that's about to cave in." I gesture to the shaky structure. The weeds, untamed and voracious, strangle the life from the land, a green sea of neglect. "Overgrown weeds everywhere, your gardens gone."
The few animals we have left nibble at the scarce patches of grass. "This place is falling apart, Daddy."
His whole face sours, like I’ve crossed the line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"I do know what I'm talking about. You're getting older, and this..." I gesture towards the land around us, the once vibrant life of the farm now a faded and fragile watercolor. "This is too much for you now."
The suggestion hangs between us, and he doesn’t say a word.
"Sell it," I continue. "Get yourself a nice low-maintenance condo in town. There's no shame in enjoying retirement without... all this." My hand sweeps across the expanse of unruly land again, the neglect written everywhere you look.
He begins to rock in his chair. "You think because you're some big shot in the city now, that you can just come in here and make demands? Because I got news for you, young lady. You're not better than any of us. Why don't you just go back? Just forget about us like you have all these years.”
Time slows, each second stretching out like the long shadows creeping across the porch. I want to argue, to scream that I am still his daughter, that I remembered them everyday. That I do care. But the words are caught in my throat, and I can't unleash them—not now. Not when standing this close to him still feels so far away.
"Daddy, I didn't forget?—"
"Enough." He stands. His shadow looms over me, a dark cloud obscuring the sun's warmth. "You're ruining my morning.Your momma walked out on all of us for that city life with some rich douche, and what did you do? Followed right behind her, didn't you?" He spits out the words like they're poison on his tongue. "You’re just as bad as she is."
The screen door slams, resonating through my chest where a dull ache begins to throb. I feel it—the sting of his judgment, the moment I’ve been avoiding all these years. With a final glance at the man who seems more stranger than father, I turn away.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not where he might see. I press my teeth into my bottom lip like that might somehow hold everything together. One step. Then another. The farther I get from the house, the looser the knot in my chest begins to untangle.
The barn swallows me in its quiet. The doors creak open with a low groan, like even they feel the weight I’m dragging with me. I sink onto a bale of hay, the dry scratch of it biting through my jeans, and finally—finally—I break.
My body shudders with the first sob, like it’s been waiting for permission to fall apart. Then another. And another. Each one heavier than the last, loud in the echo of this hollow space. No matter how strong I try to be, I still want his acceptance, even after all these years.
I cry for the father who can't see past his own hurt, for the girl who left, and for the woman who returned—searching for something she's not even sure exists anymore.
