"She doesn’t think that," I say quietly.
He scoffs, arms folding across his chest. "Still taking her side? Even after she left you without a word?"
She didn’t just leave me.
She left all of us.
But I can’t be angry. Not the way Jasper is. Not when I know what it took for her to stay as long as she did. She held it all together when the rest of us were falling apart. I remember her in that hospital room, curled up in a chair for hours while Jasper was off grabbing coffee with Wren.
"I’m not on anyone’s side," I say. "But how long was she supposed to stay, Jasp? She has a job. A life."
He glares. "Yeah. And she always leaves when things get too hard."
"Did you ask her to stay?"
His jaw flexes. "I shouldn’t have to."
I didn’t ask her to stay either.
Couldn’t.
God knows I wanted to. Wanted to grab her hand, pack a bag, and tell her I’d follow her wherever she was going. But someone has to hold the line here. Someone has to stay behind and keep the walls from caving in.
She doesn’t need me in LA.
She needs me here, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart so she can keep chasing her dreams without looking back.
"I’ve got a few errands this morning," I say as Jasper brushes past me in the hall. "Need anything from town?"
"A new life," he mutters without looking up.
I huff a breath and raise a brow. Don’t we all.
In the kitchen, I leave my coffee cup in the sink. I’ll do the dishes later. Maybe tonight, maybe not. The house is heavy with everything unspoken, and I just need to breathe.
I step out into the soft light of the morning, the air already thick with the summer heat. As I reach for the door handle on my truck, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
@theelowendonovan has posted a new video
I shouldn’t open it.
But I do.
Her face fills the screen. Wind-tousled hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a yoga mat slung under one arm as she walks some sunny LA street like it belongs to her. She smiles at the camera, but her eyes…they’re tired. Not broken. Just bruised in that quiet way only I’d notice.
The video cuts to her in class, mouthingthis is harder than I thoughtmid-pose. Then she’s laughing softly on a café patio, recounting how sore she is, how good it feels to do something just for herself.
She looks different.
Not like she’s moved on.
But like she’s fighting her way back to herself.
The city light behind her turns her hair almost gold, and for a second I swear I can smell her vanilla shampoo, hear her laugh bouncing off these small-town walls. It hurts, but it’s the good kind of hurt. The kind that reminds you love didn’t die, it just changed shape.
And somehow… that makes me smile.
She’s trying.
