Enya’s face burned. “Mom.”
“What?” Momma’s eyes searched Enya’s face. “It’s obvious, baby. And it’s okay. More than okay.”
Enya set the knife down with a clatter, her appetite suddenly gone. “It’s not like that. I mean, it can’t be. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
Birdie-June reached over, wiping a smear of onion from Enya’s cheek with her thumb, her touch gentle. “Why not?”
Enya gestured vaguely at herself, her hands trembling. “Because I’m?—”
Broken.
A mess.
A ghost of who I used to be.
“This,” she settled on trying to explain, her voice rough. “And he’s?—”
Rowan.
Steady as the earth.
Strong enough to carry me out of hell and not once let me go.
“He deserves better.”
Her mom’s expression darkened, her brows drawing together. “Enya Moore, don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”
Enya flinched like she’d been slapped.
Birdie-June’s voice dropped, low and fierce. “You hear me?” Her eyes were wet, her grip on Enya’s arm tight. “You fought, you survived, and if that man’s half as smart as his mother says he is, he knows exactly what he’s got in you.”
Enya’s vision blurred. She turned back to the cutting board, blinking fast, her fingers curling into fists. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Birdie-June said gently, her hand rubbing slow circles on Enya’s back. “But it’s a start.”
If the ground could do her a solid and open itself up so she could drop right into it and hide, she’d be thrilled…. So thrilled right now.
“Okay, okay.” Her momma clearly saw she was uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had gone and gave her a reprieve. “Come on, let’s get dinner on the table. Daddy and Gael will be up from the barn in a few minutes.”
Thank you, sweet baby, Jesus. I’ll buy you a new bicycle next week. Promise.
Dinner was loud, fun, and filled with laughter. Gael and Camden argued good-naturedly about bloodlines—Camden insisting his old cutting horse, Doc, could still outwork any of Stronghold’s stock despite his age, Gael countering with facts about the new baby colt’s sire, his voice dry but his eyes alight with something that almost looked like amusement. Enya’s dad had always been like that—stubborn as an oak, proud as a peacock, impossible to shut up when it came to horses. Seeing him like this—relaxed,his laughter deep and unrestrained—made something in Enya’s chest loosen, and she had to work harder than she’d like to keep her tears at bay.
Birdie-June nudged her gently with her elbow. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Enya nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just… full.”
Her mom’s eyes softened. She knew. Of course, she knew.
The conversation lulled as plates were cleared, the clink of silverware against ceramic giving way to the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the old house settling around them. Camden leaned back in his chair, his gaze landing on Enya with a weight that made her spine stiffen.
“So,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “You ready to come home yet?”
The question hung there, heavy as a stone, and Enya’s pulse spiked, her fingers digging into the wood of the table. She opened her mouth?—
“She’s staying here for as long as she wants?—”
Enya’s head whipped around so fast her body followed with it, and she almost fell off the chair. “Rowe, you’re home.”
