And somewhere in all that mental chaos, a quieter truth emerges.
She never told me how serious his condition is.
For the first time in my life, I wonder if she left it vague because she knew I’d come. Not a conscious manipulation, but simply because that’s my pattern. She knows I won’t hesitate, especially when it comes to family.
It’s what I do.
Most of our fights since I moved away revolve around the fact that she doesn’t know what to do without me there. She got so used to having a purpose that she built hers around mine.
That realization makes my chest ache, but it’s not enough to stay.
Because if I don’t go, I’ll never know whether I stayed here because I chose Aiden, or because disappointing my mother felt worse.
And that distinction matters.
It deserves honesty.
Even if it hurts.
Because I’m not running from Aiden. I’m runningtowardseeing my dad, and I need to know I can do that without disappearing into my old role.
This is the pattern I’ve lived inside my whole life: when things get heavy, I make myself smaller so everyone else can keep standing.
If I don’t interrupt it now, I never will.
“I’ll come with you.” There’s zero hesitation in his voice, like I should never have questioned whether or not he would.
My first instinct is to tell him no. Not because I don’t love him or don’t want him there, but because I can already hear my own arguments, building their case.
“Don’t be a burden.”
“Don’t ask him to rearrange his life for you.”
“Have you done enough to earn this ask?”
But there’s another voice, too. Someone who knows Aiden better than I do, because she’s known him his whole life.
He’s distracted, Chloe. He’s bending over backward to make sure you feel safe and wanted.
He’s letting himself believe he can have it all.
Real things still have consequences.
“Aiden. I don’t want to distract you from the farm.”
“This is the calm ‘season’,” he says, his brow furrowed. “There’s not a lot going on yet—it’s actually the perfect time to press pause. Owen and Evie can handle things for a few days. The Christmas rush is done. I just…I don’t want you doing this alone.”
That—that—is what almost undoes me.
This version of Aiden is a far cry from the one who let me walk away.
There are no qualms in his mannerisms, even though this will cost him. Without knowing Dad’s condition, it seems like a frivolous thing to do.
But his choice is clear.
He isn’t choosing the farm. He’s choosing me as part of it.
My throat tightens. “You heard Mom. I don’t know what his condition is, or what we’re walking into.”
