She hesitated, and for a terrible moment I thought she'd refuse. Then she stepped back, holding the door open just enough for me to pass.
The cabin felt different. Cold, somehow, despite the morning light. The spelling tests were still scattered on her table. A mug of tea sat abandoned, stone cold. Evidence of a life interrupted.
"Emma." I turned to face her. "What's really going on?"
"I told you. I need space."
"That's not an answer. That's a wall."
Her body went stiff. "Maybe I need walls right now."
"Against me?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "Against Sarah? We're not the enemy here."
"I know that."
"Then why are you treating us like we are?"
"I'm not—" She stopped, pressed her hands to her face. When she looked at me again, her eyes were swimming. "You don't understand."
"Then help me understand." I stepped closer, not touching, just present. "Tuesday, we were fine. We were planning our next dinner date. Sarah was drawing pictures of our camping trip. And then the ranger came, and suddenly you're hiding in your house, not answering calls, shutting us out like we're strangers."
"The ranger—" Her voice cracked.
"I know. The missing hikers. It triggered something."
"It didn't trigger something." The words burst out of her, raw and angry. "It reminded me of what's real. What's always been real. People go into the wilderness, and they don't come back. That's not a trigger, Cole. That's a fact."
"Not always."
"Often enough." She was crying now, tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked. "My sister walked into the mountains on a beautiful day and never walked out. My mother fought for two years and lost anyway. Everyone I love leaves. Everyone."
"I'm not leaving."
"You can't promise that." Her voice rose, cracking. "You live on that mountain. You walk those trails every day like they're sidewalks. You teach Sarah to love the wilderness that killed my sister. How am I supposed to watch that? How am I supposed to fall asleep every night wondering if tomorrow is the day I get the call?"
The words hit like physical blows. I didn't have an easy answer because there wasn't one.
"You're right," I said quietly. "I can't promise nothing bad will ever happen. Nobody can promise that."
"Then what's the point?" She threw her hands up. "What's the point of any of this if it all just ends in loss?"
"The point is the living, Emma. The point is the time we have."
"That's easy for you to say. You choose the risk. You run toward it." Her eyes blazed through the tears. "I'm the one who has to watch and wait. I'm the one who has to stand at windows and check phones and imagine the worst every time you're late. That's not living. That's torture."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn't wrong. I'd never thought about it from the angle of the person left behind, the one who waits.
"I didn't think about that," I admitted.
"No. You didn't."
Her accusation was looming over me. I deserved it.
"So what do you want me to do?" I asked. "Sell the cabin? Move to the city? Give up everything that makes me who I am?"
"No." The fight seemed to drain out of her. "I don't want you to change. I just... I can't do this. I can't love you and wait for the mountain to take you. I'm not strong enough."
"You're the strongest person I know."
