I turned to the woman again and grinned. “No. This is perfect,” I stuttered. “Thank you.”
She nodded once, then promptly shuffled back over to a counter, where she set the carafe down with a soft clink and disappeared into the back room again.
I took a deep breath, relieved to be alone again, and within moments I was connected to Wi-Fi.
“Thank you, Jesus!”
At least a dozen new messages popped up in my inbox—lighting up the screen and filling me with anxiety. There was no way I had time to answer them all right now. Not with a borrowed Jeep—and Dean hopefully still unaware I was gone.
I opened a new email and started typing fast.
Subject:Family Emergency—Temporary Delay in Communication
Dear Clients,
I wanted to let you know that I’m currently away due to an unexpected family emergency. As a result, all projects will be put on hold until Monday.
Thank you for your patience and understanding during this difficult time.
Warm regards,
Emily Garland
Owner | EJ Web Design
I reread the message twice before hittingsend to all—better to rip off the bandage before I could second-guess myself.
Just as the confirmation ping faded, my phone came alive, buzzing in rapid bursts. I must’ve finally hit a patch of service. Text messages rolled in one after another—most of them junk, payment confirmations, spam—but one text froze me in place.
John:You there? You were supposed to text when you arrived. Starting to worry.
I inhaled slowly, forcing my pulse to steady. My last outgoing message still sitting above.
Undelivered.
I typed fast, running on borrowed time.
Me:Hey! Sorry—just getting your messages. Heading in for my first massage and ready to unplug for a while. If you don’thear from me, DON’T WORRY. I’ve been needing to unplug for a while. Talk soon.
My thumb hovered, but before I could talk myself out of it, I pressedsend.The message whooshed away, and guilt landed heavy in my chest. It wasn’t a total lie—Iwastaking a break—but the part about a spa week made my stomach twist.
The clock on my screen flashed. Forty-five minutes gone already.
I stood, downed the last of my coffee, thanked the old couple with a tight smile, and stepped back into the crisp morning air—every nerve in my body buzzing with the weight of what I’d just done.
The Jeep still felt massive when I climbed into the driver’s seat again, but this time I guided it onto the road with a little more confidence. The pine-lined road seemed to stretch a little longer in reverse—without another car leading the way, every bend made me worry I’d missed the turn.
With my hands tight on the wheel, I scanned for the familiar wooden sign. When it finally appeared, my grip loosened, and I turned down the long gravel lane, counting cabins until I found the one I’d come from.
Everything looked exactly as I’d left it—quiet, still, as though the morning had been holding its breath in my absence.
Until I climbed out of the jeep and rounded the corner.
Dean was sitting on the front step wearing running shorts and a tank top, one arm draped around George’s neck, his expression carved tight—too still. Guarded.
I froze mid-step.
His head snapped up the second he sensed me, but his face didn’t change. No relief, no irritation—just that blank expression I knew too well, like he was locking something down fast. He stood abruptly, and George trotted to my side with a soft whine, nudging his nose into my palm.
