Carson
I’d planned the next three days when we were off with the kind of careful, quiet optimism I barely recognized in myself. I didn’t plan anything elaborate, just time with Sienna.
Time getting to know her in the warm lull between guide trips.
Time to let whatever was unfolding between us breathe a little.
But life rarely asked for my permission before rearranging itself.
I had just finished repacking my gear from the last trek, clean ropes coiled, water filters dried, my compass polished out of habit, when my phone buzzed on the table.
Carson – Call me. Urgent. Please.
My stomach tightened.
My brother didn’t send messages like that. Ever. He was young but stable, steady, a family man in a way I’d neverbeen. He handled stress with humor. He diffused tension like a professional. He and Cara had been married for several years, had two kids under six, ran their own small plumbing business, and were the kind of couple everyone assumed would grow old together.
And yet…urgentwasn’t a word he’d use lightly.
I called him immediately.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Carson?”
His voice cracked. Not broken, but off—strained in a way that scraped old memories raw.
“What’s going on?” I asked, setting my gear aside.
A long exhale. Then: “Cara left.”
I froze. The air in the cabin seemed to thin.
“What do you mean she left?”
“She took the kids to her sister’s place. She’s not talking to me. Says she needs time.” His voice trembled. “She says I’ve been… absent. Distracted. She says she feels like she’s raising the kids alone.”
My pulse pressed hard behind my ribs. “Ev… why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“Because I didn’t want to dump this on you,” he said, frustration and grief coiled together. “But today she said maybe she’s done trying. Maybe she needs space to rethink everything. I panicked. I don’t know what to do.”
I sank into the nearest chair, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
He sniffed. “I know you’ve been busy. And I know I’m supposed to handle my own life, but, man… I feel like I’m drowning.”
A familiar ache surged through me—sharp, deep, painfully familiar. How did I not see this coming? Had I detached from life so much, I was delusional?
This was the same voice he’d had when our parents died.
The same voice I heard when I became his stand-in father overnight.
The same voice that once convinced me I could hold the sky up for him if I just tried hard enough.
Back then, stepping in had cost me my engagement.
My relationship.
Pieces of myself I couldn’t get back.
