"By running yourself ragged at Riversong? By never taking a day off? By refusing to let yourself be happy?" Shane shook his head. "Baby, that's not atonement. That's punishment. And you don't deserve to be punished."
"Yes, I do?—"
"No." Shane's voice was firm. "You don't. You made choices you thought were right at the time. You survived. You came home. You brought them Kevin." His hands tightened on her hips. "Your family has forgiven you. Hell, I bet if you asked your dad, he'd say there was never anything to forgive in the first place."
April's eyes stung. Because Shane was right—she'd apologized a thousand times and her parents had told her to stop. They'd never blamed her. They'd just been grateful she was home.
But April had never forgiven herself.
"I don't know if I deserve to be happy," she whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because—" The tears spilled over then, hot tracks down her cheeks. "Because I did so many dumb things. Brought so much pain to everyone I love."
"You don't think Kevin is a mistake, do you?"
April's head snapped up, fury flooding through her. "Of course not. He's the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd crawl over broken glass through hell and back for my son. I'd go through it all again—every humiliation, every beating, everyterrifying night when I wasn't sure if I'd see the morning. All of it to make sure I still had Kevin."
"Then what are you trying to atone for?" Shane asked gently. "Coming home? Asking your family for help? Having the courage to rebuild your life?"
"The pain I caused them. The worry. The—" April's voice broke. "I've been trying to make up for it. Helping with the shop, being there for everyone, going without so they can have extra?—"
"But you deserve?—"
"Don't tell me what I do and don't deserve." April pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I already know."
Shane was quiet for a long moment, watching her. Then he said, very softly, "Youdon'tknow, April. You don't have the first clue. You can't drag your past around with you forever. You came back here to get away from it, but you brought all the fear, all the pain, all the undeserved guilt, right back with you." He leaned forward. "Let it go."
"I can't." April squeezed her eyes shut.
"Why—"
"I don't know how!" The words burst out of her, raw and desperate. A tear slid down her cheek and she opened her eyes. "I don't know how to stop feeling like I owe everyone everything. Like being happy would be taking something away from someone else."
Shane studied her, his expression shifting from concern to understanding. "I get it now," he said quietly. "April, you being happy wouldn't take anything away from the people who love you. They don't want to see you sad. They don't want to punish you for anything. They've forgiven you—hell, they never blamed you in the first place."
"But—"
Shane held up his hand. "Even though I'm sure you've given them hundreds of apologies by now."
Damn him for being right. She'd apologized until they'd told her to stop. So she'd converted all that energy into action—helping at Riversong, running errands, taking care of Kevin, never letting herself just... be happy.
Because she didn't feel like she deserved it.
"There is so much going on in your head right now," Shane said softly, reaching for her. "Let me in."
April started to lean toward him, then froze. Old instinct, old fear. She turned her face away—no, she flinched.
Flinched.
Like she was expecting him to hit her denying him anything.
The silence that followed was deafening.
When April finally looked back at Shane, his face had gone pale. Not angry—devastated.
"April," he breathed. "Did you think I was going to—" He couldn't even finish the sentence. "Baby, I would never?—"
