All he could do was pray.
Millie sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold.
The house felt too quiet. Too heavy.
She’d retreated to her room after the sheriff finished searching it, needing space to process everything. But the walls had started closing in, and Biscuit had been restless, sensing her anxiety.
So she’d come back downstairs, hoping movement might settle the chaos in her mind.
It hadn’t.
The sound of a car door closing pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up just as the back door opened.
Ruby stepped inside, her arms loaded with grocery bags, her face lined with concern.
“Millie,” she said, setting the bags on the counter. “I came as soon as I heard. I can’t imagine . . .”
“It’s been pretty rough around here.”
Naomi appeared from the hallway and moved to help her mother unload. “You didn’t have to come back, Mom.”
“Of course, I did.” Ruby pulled out a large container, condensation still clinging to the sides. “I made Brunswick stew.Everyone needs to eat, and I figured no one felt much like cooking.”
Millie’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
It was such a small thing—bringing food, offering comfort through something tangible. But the act felt enormous in this moment.
Ruby glanced at her, and something in her expression softened. “Naomi, can you put these away? I’ll get the stew warming on the stove.”
“Sure.” Naomi grabbed the bags and disappeared into the pantry.
Ruby stepped to the stove, her movements practiced and sure. She didn’t speak right away, just let the silence settle between them in a way that felt oddly comforting.
Millie watched her, trying to find words that wouldn’t come.
Finally, Ruby turned and leaned against the counter as she waited for the stew to heat. Her gaze found Millie’s. “You must be terrified.”
Millie’s chest tightened. There was no need to deny the statement. “I am.”
Ruby crossed to the table and pulled out the chair beside her, lowering herself into it with a soft sigh. “But you’re safe with Caleb. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
The words should have been reassuring. Instead, they scraped against something raw inside her.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” Millie said before she could stop herself.
Ruby’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t look surprised. “Why not?”
Millie looked down at her hands. “Because I trusted him once. And he left.”
The admission hung between them, vulnerable and sharp.
Ruby was quiet, her expression thoughtful. Then, her voice gentle, she said, “Have you two talked? I mean, really talked?”
Millie shook her head. “No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I don’t know what there is to say.” Millie’s voice came out strained. “He made his choice six years ago. I made mine. We’ve both moved on.”
