"I'm trying," I say, and my voice cracks on the words.
"I know you are, honey." She settles beside me on the hay bale. "But you're trying the way your daddy used to try when he didn't want to stop long enough to feel something."
The sandwich goes still in my hands, forgotten.
"Stop," I say, sharper than I mean to. "I'm handling it."
Mae's face shifts—not hurt, just careful. "I'm not saying you're not. I'm saying you're handling it the way your daddy did. Like if you just don't stop moving, you won't have to feel it."
My throat closes. I want to argue, want to tell her she's wrong. But the words stick because maybe she's not.
The silence stretches between us. Mae doesn't push, doesn't fill it. Just lets her observation sit there.
"I don't know how else to do it," I finally admit, so quietly I'm not sure she hears.
Mae nods once, understanding in her expression. "I know, honey. But you're gonna have to figure that out today." She stands, brushing off her jeans. "You let me know when you're ready to talk about what you actually want instead of what you're afraid of."
She leaves, and I'm alone with the truth of her words.
I force myself to unwrap the sandwich, take a bite. Then another. It tastes like nothing but I keep going because Mae's right and I need to stop pretending she's not.
She's right. I have been running myself ragged to avoid feeling any of this.
She leaves, and I'm left staring at the sandwich in my hands.
Three bites in, and my stomach turns. I set it down and walk outside, needing air.
I've thought about driving to his place a hundred times this week. Picked up my keys. Started the truck once. But I always stop before I get there because what would I even say?I haven't decided yetis the truth, but it's also the problem. The exact thing that made him draw his line in the first place.
I lean against the barn wall now, staring at the horizon where his land meets ours. Somewhere over there, he's going about his day. Existing without me.
He meant it. The line he drew.I won't do this again.
And I've spent four days proving him right.
I see his truck then—just for a second, a flash of dark paint moving along the far fence line on Dawson property. Too far to make out details. Close enough that my chest aches.
He's there. Right there.
And he might as well be in another state.
***
Shae doesn't knock. Just walks in through Mae's front door late that afternoon, boots loud against the hardwood.
I'm at the kitchen table, staring at my laptop without seeing it.
She sits down across from me, no preamble. "So you're just gonna let the deadline pass?"
My jaw tightens. "I'm thinking."
"You've been thinking for four days." Her voice isn't mean, just direct. "At some point thinking becomes stalling."
I close the laptop. "It's not that simple."
"It is, actually." She leans forward. "You want to stay or you want to go. Pick one."
"I haven't—"
