“Marcella—”
“I believed him.” The admission scrapes my throat raw. “For three years, I believed every word. I stopped seeing friendsbecause he said they were bad influences. I stopped posting recipes because he said it was pathetic. I made myself smaller and quieter and less, because I thought that’s what love looked like.”
The wind howls around us. I’m crying now, tears freezing on my cheeks, but I can’t stop.
“When I finally left, I felt like a failure. Not because the marriage ended, but because I’d let it happen. I’d let him turn me into someone I didn’t recognize, and I hadn’t even fought back.” I meet his eyes through the blur of tears. “So don’t tell me I don’t understand damage, Finn. Don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like to be broken. I’ve been there. I’m still there, some days.”
He reaches for me then—finally, finally—and pulls me against his chest. His arms wrap around me, solid and warm despite the cold, and I bury my face in his flannel and let myself shake.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so sorry he did that to you.”
“And I’m sorry you lost them.” My voice is muffled against his chest. “I’m sorry you’ve been carrying that alone for four years.”
We stand there in the snow, holding each other, two broken people who somehow found each other in the middle of nowhere. It’s not a solution. It’s not a promise. But it’s something.
A beginning, maybe. If we’re brave enough to take it.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Finn says quietly. “I don’t know how to let someone in without waiting for them to leave.”
“I don’t know how to be with someone without making myself smaller to fit.” I pull back enough to look at him. “But maybe wecan figure it out together. Maybe being broken in different ways means we can help each other heal.”
His forehead drops to mine. Our breath mingles in the frozen air.
“I want to try,” he whispers. “I want to try so badly it scares me.”
“Being scared is okay. Running isn’t.”
“I know.” His hands tighten on my waist. “I know.”
The moment stretches, fragile and precious.
Then the radio crackles through the open back door, loud enough to hear even from here.
“...road crews report Highway 7 will be cleared by this evening. Residents are advised that travel conditions will remain hazardous, but the pass should be accessible by approximately 6 PM...”
We both freeze.
Evening. That’s hours away. Not days—hours.
Finn pulls back, his expression shifting into something I can’t read. The walls are going up again, I can see it happening in real time.
“We should go inside,” he says. “You’re freezing.”
He’s right—I’m shivering so hard my teeth are chattering. But I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break this fragile connection we’ve just built.
“Finn—”
“Inside.” His voice is gentle but firm. “We’ll talk more. I promise.”
I let him guide me back toward the ranger station, his arm around my shoulders. The radio is still droning weather updates as we step through the door, but I barely hear them.
The roads are clearing.
Time is running out.
And I still don’t know if what we have is strong enough to survive the real world.
Chapter 12
