***
A week into their cabin retreat, they drove into the nearby town for supplies. It was small—populationmaybe three thousand—with a main street that looked like something from a postcard.
“This is adorable,” Nora said as they walked down the sidewalk. “Like aggressively adorable.”
“Wait until you see the antique shop. Mrs. Henderson who runs it has a collection of porcelain cats that’s legitimately terrifying.”
“Why do you know that?”
“Jake dragged me here once. Said I needed to ‘experience small-town charm.’” Carson took her hand. “I hated every minute. But being here with you? Different.”
They wandered through shops, buying things they didn’t need—locally made honey, a book about the area’s history, a ridiculous pair of socks with fish on them that Nora insisted Carson needed.
In the antique shop, Nora stopped in front of a display of old photographs.
“Look at this,” she said, picking up a framed photo of a family—parents and two children, circa 1950s based on the clothing. “They look so happy.”
Carson studied the photo. “My parents had one like this. All four of us before Lily disappeared. Mom kept it on the mantel for years after Dad died. I don’t know what happened to it when she moved to Arizona.”
“Do you talk to her? Your mom?”
“Sometimes. Holidays mostly. She remarried a few years ago. Nice guy. Makes her happy.” He set the photo down. “After Dad died, she couldn’t stayin Blackridge. Too many memories. I understood that.”
“But you stayed.”
“I had to. It felt like running away would mean Lily was really gone. That there was no hope of finding her.” He picked up another photo—a young couple on their wedding day. “Logically, I know she’s probably dead. It’s been nineteen years. But some part of me still hopes. Still thinks maybe one day I’ll get a call saying they found her.”
Nora squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”
“Me too.” He set down the photo and turned to her. “But being with you? It helps. Makes the grief a little less heavy. Gives me something to look forward to instead of just looking back.”
They left the shop without buying anything, but Nora felt like she understood Carson better. Understood the weight he carried. The guilt that drove him.
That night, as they lay in bed, Nora said quietly, “You know it’s okay to let go, right? Of the guilt about Lily. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up on her or forgetting her. It just means you’re letting yourself live.”
Carson was quiet for so long she thought he might not respond. Then, “I know. Intellectually, I know that. But knowing it and feeling it are different things.”
“Then maybe we can work on it together. Help each other let go of the things we can’t change.”
“You need to let go of things too?”
“Tons. Every foster home that didn’t work out. Every time I was told I was too difficult or too quiet or too much.” She turned to face him in the darkness. “I spent so long believing I was unlovable. That there was something fundamentally wrong with me. And even now, with you, part of me is waiting for you to realize I’m not worth the effort.”
“Nora—”
“I know it’s not rational. I know you love me. But trauma doesn’t care about logic.” She pressed closer to him. “So maybe we can both work on letting go. Together.”
“Together,” Carson agreed. “I like the sound of that.”
They fell asleep holding each other, both carrying a little less weight than before.
***
The second week at the cabin passed too quickly.
They spent their days in easy contentment—more reading, hiking, making love, and talking about the future. Carson told her about cases he’d worked on. Nora told him about her plans to start her own consulting business, working from home so she’d have more flexibility.
“You’d be good at that,” Carson said one morning over coffee. “Your own boss. Setting your own hours.”
