She'd loved too much. That was what Gran always said. Loved a man who promised stability and delivered chaos, who charmed her into a life she never wanted and then abandoned her when it got hard. Mom had spent years trying to shrink herself small enough to fit into the space he left for her. By the time he walked out, there was barely anything left.
I was twelve when he left. Twelve, when I watched my mother crumble. Twelve, when Gran drove four hours to collect us and bring us here, to this kitchen, to this house that had never failed anyone.
“Don't let a man make you small,”Gran had said the night we arrived. I was crying at the kitchen table, and she was making hot chocolate, and outside, the snow was falling like the world was trying to start over.“You come from strong women, Grace. We bend, but we don't break. And we never, ever disappear.”
I looked up at her portrait above the doorway. Margaret Eleanor Hayes, 1942–2019. Stern mouth. Kind eyes. The woman who built this place with her own hands after Grandpa died young and left her with nothing but debt and determination.
She'd run this B&B alone for thirty years. Raised my mother here, then raised me when my mother couldn't. She'd taught mewhat love should feel like. Additive. Never hollow. That the right person would make you feel more like yourself, not less.
When had Marcus stopped making me feel like myself?
When had I stopped noticing?
The dough was ready. I shaped it into rolls with hands that had stopped shaking somewhere around the second hour of kneading. Outside the window, the sky was still black, but I could feel the dawn coming—the faint shift in the darkness that meant morning wasn’t far.
I covered the rolls and set them aside to rise. Washed my hands. Stood at the sink and stared at my reflection in the dark window.
The woman looking back at me was someone I barely recognized. Tired eyes. A mouth held too tight, like it had forgotten how to rest. The posture of someone who’d spent years folding herself into smaller and smaller shapes, learning how to fit into smaller and smaller spaces.
I didn’t remember when it started.
But I knew that I was tired of holding my breath.
CHAPTER 3
Owen
A week since Sarah left,and I was learning to fill the silence.
I ran morning drills before anyone else arrived. Stayed late to check equipment that didn’t need checking. Volunteered for every extra shift the schedule could hold. It wasn’t ambition. It was noise.
The crew noticed. Of course, they noticed. Firefighters were trained to spot warning signs, and I was waving them like flags, whether I meant to or not.
Cal found me in the equipment bay on Thursday, reorganizing hose couplings that were already perfectly organized.
“Mitchell.”
I didn't look up. “Captain.”
“You've logged more overtime this week than anyone on the crew. At this rate, I'm going to have to start charging you rent.”
“Equipment doesn't maintain itself.”
Cal leaned against the engine, arms crossed. I could feel him watching me—that steady, assessing look that never rushed,never missed much. The kind that made you aware of yourself in ways you’d rather avoid.
“I’m fine, Cal.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.” He pushed off the engine. “Just saying the station’s not going anywhere. Neither are we. Whenever you’re ready.”
He walked away before I could respond. That was Cal. He’d plant the seed and trust you to deal with it in your own time.
The truth was, the station felt safer than my apartment. At least here, there was always something that needed fixing. A gauge to calibrate. A ladder to inspect. A drill to run. The work filled the hours, gave my hands something to do while my thoughts kept circling the same worn tracks.
Smoke clung to my clothes even after I showered. The smell had seeped into my skin years ago, settled there the way calluses settled into my hands. I didn’t mind. The weight of the gear was familiar. Comforting. My body knew this work even when my mind drifted elsewhere. Muscle memory carried me through the motions while the rest of me stayed carefully numb.
It was easier this way. Safer.
If I kept moving, I didn’t have to think about the empty parking spot at my apartment. The ring still hidden in the drawer. The silence that waited every night when I walked through the door.
