Just for today, I can pretend I live in a world where someone might actually like me forme.
Pulling up a stool, we eat in silence for several minutes, both lost to thought. After a while, Santos bumps his shoulder against mine. “Question?”
I roll my eyes but am secretly pleased that even after everything he’s saw and learned about me, he’d want to know more. “Fine, but nothing nasty. I’m try to eat.”
He puts his palm to his chest, his eyes widening in mock horror. “I would never.” I stare at him, and he chuckles. “Fine, maybe I would, but I won’t. I just wanted to know if you thought you could ever be truly happy here?”
I’m taken aback by his question, the spoon in my hand wobbling before my mouth. I think about my answer for far too long, the thought to ask even myself that question never having crossed my mind.
Finally, I set the spoon down, looking at him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me with such intensity, I shiver. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what it’s like to be happy anywhere.”
“Do you want to be happy here? Or do you want to give all this up and go back to, uh, wherever you were before?” He stumbles over the words, and I face him fully.
“I have to be here for three years, so?—”
“After that.”
I chew my lip and then sigh. “It’s so much simpler living in the country than it was at the casino. There are fewer people, fewer times when I have to pretend I’m someone I’m not. It’s physical and demanding, but at the end of the day, I feel truly accomplished, whereas before, I was always searching for more.I guess, yeah, I think I could be happy here. I’d love to be happy here.”
His eyes soften, and he nods with a smile. “I thought so.”
We eat in silence after that; not an awkward tense silence, but one made of peace.And it’s the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.
THIRTY-ONE
VALENTINA
November 30th, 2025
The ranch is quiet,not even a breeze disturbing the boards of the barn or rustling through the trees lining the driveway. It’s still—so still, I’d normally be afraid of what comes next. Not today, though.
For the first time in what feels like my entire life, I know peace.
I’m not naive. I know I’ll never be cured, nor do I have much interest in that, but I feel lighter, less alone. Santos is the last person I expected to find solace in, yet when I finally poured my darkest secrets out, he only held me tighter. He didn’t push for more than I was willing to give, never asked for anything in return for the burden I’d bestowed upon him.
In some ways, it feels like I no longer harbor the weight of it all alone. He can’t fix it, and I don’t want him to even try—we’re able to simply exist in each other’s darkest parts, like an anchor in a raging ocean.
It’s calming, freeing,peaceful.
Closing the last stall door, I wait for Snicker to turn around and present her velvety soft nose the way she always does when I finish cleaning. She whines at me, her ears flicking back and forth, and I smile, running my fingers gingerly over the pink fuzz.
“You’re just using me for treats.” I scoff, not the least bit offended.
Truth be told, the more time I spend outside on the ranch, around the horses specifically, the more I feel whole again. It’s a feeling I thought died twenty years ago.
“I’m glad I was wrong.” I feel comfortable admitting it to her, but I still can’t imagine sharing that realization with anyone else—especially Mateo.
It’s not his fault he doesn’t know about my past, but no matter how badly I want to, I can’t imagine sharing any of it with him. It’s my history, my pain, and part of me is afraid that if I share it, he’ll take it and make it his own.
Just like he’s done with everything else in my life.
Inhaling the smell of fresh sawdust and horse sweat, I stretch my arms above my head and groan. For the first time in as long as I can remember, my muscles ache from the exertion of labor—my body hard and fit in all the right places because I’ve earned it, not because I’ve paid for it.
It’s a rewarding feeling, one I plan to keep pursuing.
“I’m sorry, guys. I don’t know what I’m doing.” I stare at the blocks of hay, feeling completely lost, as I almost always do when it comes to ranch chores. It’s a simple task, and yet, I’m completely incompetent. A pang of uncertainty hits me, and for a second I regret demanding the horses be brought back in—that I was capable of caring for them.
What if I don’t feed them enough?
