Part of me wants to find her. Tell her I didn't mean it like that. That I wasn't trying to weaponize her grief against her.
But I was. And she needed to hear it.
Even if it makes me feel like shit.
I drive the shovel down again, harder this time.
The problem is, she still didn't answer my question.
Are you staying or not?
That's what this comes down to. Not whether she's sorry. Not whether she understands what the last five years cost us. Whether she's willing to stay and do the work.
And she couldn't even say it.
I'd seen it in her eyes—the panic, the doubt, the way she looked at me like she wanted to but couldn't make the words come out. That hesitation told me everything I needed to know.
She's already halfway gone.
The realization sits heavy in my gut, familiar and cold. I've been here before. Watching her pack herself up piece by piece until there's nothing left but the shape of her absence.
I'm not doing it again.
I straighten, testing the post. Still loose. Needs more depth. I dig again, letting the rhythm take over, focusing on the bite of metal in dirt, the strain in my shoulders, the way my breath evens out when there's work between me and my thoughts.
The air sits heavy and wrong, pressure building behind my eyes. Storm weather. The kind that makes the horses restless and the cattle skittish. The sun climbs higher, but the light feels strange. Muted. Sweat dampens my shirt despite the wind picking up, carrying the smell of rain that isn't here yet.
This is what I'm good at. Fixing what's right in front of me. Holding things together even when they're worn thin.
Even when they don't want to be held.
I reset the post, pack dirt back in around the base, tamping it down hard. The work steadies me. Brings my pulse back under control.
Chace comes across the yard at a near-run, easy grin nowhere in sight.
I clock it before the words land. Chace doesn't run unless something's wrong.
"What?" I ask, straightening.
Chace stops a few feet away, hands on his hips. "Looks like a line got cut on the east pasture sometime last night."
My chest tightens. "How bad?"
"Hard to say yet," Chace says. "But it's where the fence dips near the tree line. If they pushed through there…" He exhales. "We're missing cattle."
"How many."
Chace exhales. "At least twelve. Could be more."
I swear under my breath, the sound rough and immediate. I drop the shovel where it stands, metal clanging against dirt.
"Damn it."
The east pasture. We'd moved that group out there days ago. Fresh grass. Plenty of room. I'd walked the line myself before dark.
"How long you think they've been gone?" I ask, already moving.
"No telling," Chace says, falling into step beside me. "If they got out early enough, they could've covered miles by now. Especially if something spooked them."
