Three simple words.
But they hit harder than any declaration.
I nodded once…not angry, not hurt, just… understanding too much for my own good.
“Then let’s take the morning,” I murmured, reaching for my pack. “Start with coffee. Fire. Warmth. And we’ll see where we are.”
She exhaled unsteadily. “Okay.”
We stepped out of the tent into pale gold morning light. The air was crisp but warming, frost melting in thin droplets along the grass. The Butterfields’ tent was still zipped closed, soft snores drifting from inside.
Good.
We needed a little time alone before cheerful honeymoon commentary exploded into the clearing.
Sienna knelt by the fire ring, stacking kindling with methodical focus. I set up the stove beside her, the metal clinking softly, the kind of quiet that should have been peaceful.
But it wasn’t.
Not today.
The silence between us felt weighted, thick with the echo of what had happened and what hadn’t been said.
Her fingers trembled once, barely visible. I pretended not to notice.
“Do you want oatmeal or the breakfast hash?” she asked, tone too bright.
“Oatmeal’s fine.”
“Okay.”
More silence.
She poured water into the pot. I lit the stove. We worked in parallel lines—close enough to feel each other, far enough to pretend distance existed.
Finally, she said in a low voice, “For what it’s worth… it wasn’t nothing, Carson.”
Relief flickered, but I didn’t let it show too much.
“Good.” I cleared my throat and glanced at the line of trees.
“But that also doesn’t mean I know how to handle it.” She glanced at me.
“I know.”
Her throat bobbed. “You’re not mad?”
“No,” I said honestly. “Just… trying to understand where your head is.”
She looked away. “Messy. That’s where.”
I nodded slowly. “Mine too.”
That got a tiny smile from her. It was the kind that cracked something open inside me.
We sat in quiet until I heard her murmur something, but I couldn’t hear the words.
I glanced at Sienna. “What?”
