The words poured out, a confession to a machine.
"There were these people: a man and his niece. And I let them in, and now I don't know how to... I don't know how not to be terrified of losing them. The way we lost Mom. The way we lost Lily."
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
"I keep pushing everyone away because it feels safer. But it's not safer, is it? It's just... lonely."
The voicemail beeped, cutting me off.
I sat there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to dead air.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows. The mountain breathed its eternal rhythm, indifferent to my small human pain.
Maggie was right. I knew she was right.
But knowing and doing were separated by a canyon of fear I didn't know how to cross.
So I stayed on the floor, in my dark cabin, with my walls and my silence and my terrible, self-inflicted loss.
And I told myself it was better this way.
The lie tasted like ash.
But I swallowed it anyway, because the alternative was hope.
And hope, I had learned, was just another word for eventual devastation.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow I will figure out how to live with what I've done.
But tonight, I will just survive it.
One breath at a time.
14.Cole
I've never begged for anything in my life. Pride, stubbornness, a childhood that taught me wanting was weakness, take your pick. But standing on Emma Reed's porch at seven in the morning, watching her try to close the door on everything we'd built, I discovered I'd beg for her without a second thought.
Last night was the longest night of my life. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment on her porch until the memories were worn thin.
"Uncle C?" Sarah's small voice drifted from her doorway around midnight. "I can't sleep."
"Me neither, kiddo."
She padded across the room and climbed into my bed, curling against my side like she used to when she was smaller. "Are you sure Emma is not mad at us?"
"No, sweetheart. She's not mad."
"Then why did she close the door?"
I didn't have an answer. I pulled her closer and stared at the darkness until her breathing evened out.
Around three in the morning, I gave up on sleep entirely. I made coffee, sat on my porch, and watched the stars wheeloverhead—the same stars Emma and I had kissed under just days ago. The memory was a knife turning slowly in my chest.
The news notification came at six. I almost missed it, my phone buried under a couch cushion where Sarah had been playing games. But something made me check.
Missing hikers found safe. A couple was discovered in a ranger cabin after taking shelter from the sudden storm. Minor hypothermia, expected full recovery.
I read it three times. Then I was moving, grabbing my keys, formulating a plan that was probably stupid and definitely desperate.
