Enough to make me leave.
Enough to make me stop pretending I could handle this alone.
Enough to make finding out I was still married feel less like a bureaucratic headache and more like a grim little gift from the universe.
Because if I need help?
If I need cover?
If I need a reason to find the one man who once promised I’d never face anything alone?
Well, then I’d say unsigned divorce papers are a hell of an excuse.
The trees thin as I crest a hill, and then I see it.
His place. His ranch.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
It stretches out wider than I expected—rolling land, crisp fence lines, barns, paddocks, cattle dotting the distance.
For New Jersey?
It’s massive.
I’ve visited this state before, but mostly the beach. Boardwalks. Salt air. Crowds.
Shore towns and fried dough and sunburned people in flip-flops.
But this? This is another world entirely.
Mountains rise in the distance, blue and soft. The sky feels enormous. Everything about the place says permanence.
Strength. Labor. Pride.
It’s beautiful.
My chest twists painfully.
Of course, Benji would be part of something like this.
Something solid.
Something strong.
Something that looks like it’ll last.
And he did it all without me, which hurts a damn sight more than I want to admit.
I slow the van as I approach what looks like the main house, gravel crunching under the tires as I pull into the drive and park.
For a second, I just sit there.
Breathing.
Staring.
My heart feels like it’s trying to leave my body.
