“That’s a generous summary.”
“I’m not asking for the full version, Rose. Not unless you want to give it. But I know what it looks like when someone is grieving more than a ranch and some horses.” She looked at me. “You fell in love with him. And you lost him. And you’re sitting out here punishing yourself.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because she was right, and the thing about Maggie being right was that she never gloated about it. She just sat with the truth and let it breathe, the way Theresa had taught us both to do when hard things needed space.
“I’m not judging you,” she said, softer. “God knows I spent enough time letting Dale convince me I didn’t deserve better. But you do deserve better, Rose. You deserve to grieve without disappearing. You deserve to be angry without shutting down. And you deserve to figure out what comes next without doing it alone in my guest room at two in the morning.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
She didn’t expect one. She just sat with me on the fire escape while the city woke up, holding my hand, being present in the way that people who love you do. Not fixing, not solving, just staying. The way she’d always stayed, because Maggie McCrae didn’t know how to leave the people she loved, even when they made it hard.
Especially when they made it hard.
Drake appeared in the window behind us, a twin in each arm. He took one look at the situation and mouthedCoffee?at Maggie.
She nodded.
He disappeared.
“He’s good,” I said quietly.
“He is.” Maggie’s voice softened. “It took us a while to get here, though. The grief he was carrying, the guilt about Belle. He almost pushed me away too. Thought he didn’t deserve to be happy again.”
“How’d you fix it?”
“I didn’t fix it. I just refused to leave.” She looked at me. “Some people are worth refusing to leave for. Even when they’re being impossible.”
Drake came back with fresh coffee and a plate of toast and a look on his face that said he’d heard every word and was choosing not to comment. He set everything down on the fire escape railing, kissed the top of Maggie’s head, and retreated back inside.
“Eat something,” Maggie said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I said eat something.” She handed me the toast. “And then take a shower. And then come sit in the living room like a human person. The twins miss you. Shannon keeps crawling toward the guest room door and looking confused when you’re not there.”
I took the toast. Bit into it. It tasted like cardboard but I chewed and swallowed because Maggie was watching and Maggie didn’t bluff.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. Just don’t disappear.” She stood up. “I lost you once when you moved to Colorado and decided you didn’t need anyone. I’m not losing you again.”
She went inside.
I sat on the fire escape and ate the toast and watched the city and thought about all the people who loved me and how bad I was at letting them.
The real griefhit at night.
During the day I could manage. I could sit in the living room and let Shannon crawl into my lap. I could help Drake with dinner while Maggie practiced violin in the other room. I could be a version of myself that functioned, not well, but enough to stop Maggie from worrying.
But at night, in the dark, with the city humming outside the window, I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I wasn’t just mourning the ranch.
I was mourning the version of myself who believed she could build something permanent. Who thought that if she worked hard enough and checked the locks enough times, she could make something that lasted.
That woman was gone. Denise had killed her. Not with a single blow but with a thousand small cuts, payments diverted, insurance lapsed, reputation poisoned, each one invisible until the whole thing collapsed.
And Graham.
