Used to us.
They don’t say much, and I don’t need them to.
It still feels like Thatcher and I live in our own little snow-globe world—up here on the mountain, wrapped in steam and sawdust and something warm and growing.
Like this bubble we’ve built could keep out the rest of the world forever.
But life doesn’t work that way.
Reality always crashes in eventually.
And I want to be ready for it.
It’s been a month since I started working at the mill, and with every weekly trip to the Supercenter, I’ve been slowly collecting the essentials—some new clothes, a better cell phone, toiletries that actually smell like me.
But today feels different.
Today I want more than survival.
I want my life back.
My choices.
My name on something that belongs to me.
So, I look up the closest branch of the bank I opened a savings account with back when I was a teenager.
It’s only twenty minutes from the Supercenter.
I’ve got just enough courage tucked in beside my debit card to make the drive.
I find Thatcher in the yard, talking with a couple of the crew about the new generator.
March is still acting nuts, and the temperatures a balmy forty-five right now.
Mud season is on.
He spots me walking toward him, and the way his whole damn face softens nearly knocks me over.
“You okay, Baby Girl?” he asks, wiping his hands on a rag as I approach.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I nod. “I was just going to head into town for the usual grocery run, but I think I’m going to stop at the bank first. That one off Route 9? They’re part of my old credit union.”
His brows twitch slightly, like he knows this means something.
He doesn’t ask for details. Just steps closer, lowering his voice.
“You sure you wanna go alone?”
I nod again.
“Yeah. I think I need to do this on my own.”
He studies me for a beat longer, then cups my cheek.
Warm. Solid. Steadying.
“You call me the second you walk outta that place, you hear me? I don’t care if it’s good news, bad news, or no news at all. I wanna hear your voice.”
