Jane finally pulled her hand from Gabe’s and used both hands to wipe her face. She let out a shaky laugh that held no humor.
“So that’s my story,” she said. “That’s why I flinch sometimes when I move wrong. Why I had to learn to walk again. Why I spent three years just going through the motions of living without actually being alive.”
Gabe sat back in his chair, his heart heavy with the weight of Jane’s pain. He understood now. Understood the shadows in her eyes, the careful way she moved sometimes, the walls she had built around herself.
And he understood why his mother had been so worried about Jane. Why everyone at the inn seemed to treat her with such gentle care. She had survived something that should have destroyed her, and she was still fighting her way back.
“Thank you for telling me,” Gabe said quietly. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
Jane shook her head. “It wasn’t. But it was time. And I knew I could tell you. That you would understand in a way most people can’t.”
“Because I’ve lost someone too,” Gabe said.
“Yes,” Jane agreed. “And because you don’t try to fix it or make it better or tell me everything happens for a reason. You just... listen.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the rain continuing its steady rhythm against the windows. Gabe felt the weight of what Jane had shared, the trust she had placed in him by opening up about the worst moment of her life.
And he knew it was his turn now. Fair was fair, and Jane deserved to know his story just as he now knew hers.
But before he could begin, Jane spoke again.
“Now I’m a wreck,” she said with a watery laugh, gesturing to her tear-stained face.
Gabe pushed himself up carefully, mindful of his injured leg. He leaned across the table and kissed her forehead gently, his lips lingering for just a moment.
“No,” he said firmly. “You’re perfect. And you’re healing.”
He felt Jane draw in a shaky breath under his touch.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “I am healing.”
She wiped her eyes one more time, then picked up her coffee and took a long sip. She grabbed another cookie and ate it slowly, clearly using the time to compose herself. When she was done, she drew in a shaky breath and looked at Gabe with eyes that were red-rimmed but determined.
“Well then,” Jane said, her voice still rough but stronger than it had been. “It’s your turn to heal.”
Gabe smiled despite the anxiety coiling in his stomach. “Fair is fair.”
He settled back into his chair, elevated his leg again, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He had told parts of this story before. To Christopher, his mother, and father, in carefully edited versions that left out the worst details.
But he had never told anyone the whole truth. The real truth. The part about Abi that he carried with him every single day, like a stone in his chest.
Until now.
14
JANE
Jane sat across from Gabe, watching him gather himself to speak. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and released as he prepared to share something he had clearly kept locked away for a long time.
She understood that feeling. The weight of carrying a story that hurt too much to tell. The fear was that once you spoke it out loud, once you shared that pain with another person, it would become real in a way it had not been before.
But she had just done exactly that. She had just laid bare the worst moment of her life, the accident that had taken everything from her. And Gabe had listened without judgment, without trying to fix it or minimize it. He had just been there, steady and present and understanding.
Now it was her turn to do the same for him.
Jane wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and tried to compose herself. She felt raw and exposed, like a wound that had been reopened. But there was also relief. She had told the full story. Not the sanitized version she gave to acquaintances or the carefully edited highlights she shared with people who asked casual questions. The real story, with all its pain, horror, and devastating detail.
And Gabe had not flinched. Had not looked at her with pity or discomfort. He had just held her hand and listened, and that simple act had meant more than he probably realized.
