“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
Because it didn’t make sense.
Because it made too much sense.
Because all the little things I’d filed away as Ray being Ray suddenly shifted into a different shape.
The way he watched me without looking like he was watching. The way he corrected my posture when I was a kid and then pretended he hadn’t. The way he showed up to my high school graduation and stood at the back like he didn’t deserve a seat, and the way his eyes had been wet when he thought no one could see.
The way he never called me kiddo. Never called me sweetheart. Never used language that might claim me out loud, like he didn’t trust himself with it.
My hands started shaking, properly this time. Not the faint tremor from shock. The real kind. The kind that rattled my teeth and made my skin feel too tight.
I forced myself upright again. My eyes locked onto the page like if I stopped reading I might stop existing.
I took you because she wasn’t fit. And I did… I did the best I could with what I had, which wasn’t much besides land and work and a quiet house.
I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay.
I wanted you free.
Free to go to the city and hate thedust and love whatever you loved.
Free to be angry at me if you needed to be.
Free to walk away and not feel like you were leaving your own blood behind.
I swallowed and tasted salt.
My fingers curled around the page so tightly my knuckles ached.
Behind the words, behind the lines, I could hear his voice. Gruff. Matter of fact. Terrible at softness, even when he was trying.
And somehow that made it worse.
You’ll have questions I can’t answer because I won’t be here. I’m sorry for that, too. But here’s what I need you to hear, Tess.
You don’t owe me anything.
Not the ranch. Not your time. Not your life.
If you stay, stay because it’s what you want.
If you go, go knowing I loved you the whole damn time.
I cried then.
Not pretty. Not quiet. Ugly, shaking sobs that bent me over the table until my ribs hurt and my throat went raw.
Because I spent my whole life thinking I’d been left twice.
Left by parents who didn’t want me.
Leftby a man who kept me at arm’s length like I was temporary.
And now I was holding proof that the only person who had stayed, really stayed, had been the one I accused of never choosing me at all.
I dragged in air, and it snagged. My chest felt split open.
