CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

**GABRIEL**
For the first time in what felt like forever, things were good between Oliver and me.
The walls that had kept us apart for so long had finally crumbled, and we were finding our way back to each other. Every day felt like a small victory—sharing meals, brushing hands as we walked side by side, lying in bed and talking until the early hours of the morning.
We were laughing again.
We were touching again.
And at night, when the world was quiet and it was just the two of us, we were making love again. Those moments were the sweetest, the most reassuring. In those moments, I could almost forget the pain of the past, the arguments, the distance.
I thought we were finally back to where we were before, stronger than ever.
But then I noticed it.
It started small—little things that I might not have picked up on if I weren’t paying attention. A faraway look in his eyes during dinner. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, even when we were joking around. The way he excused himself more often, taking phone calls outside or retreating to another room where he thought I wouldn’t notice.
At first, I told myself it was nothing. We were still healing, after all. Maybe he just needed space to process everything. After everything we’d been through, it wasn’t unreasonable to think he might need time to adjust. I convinced myself that the little things—the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way his laughter sounded forced—were just lingering scars, remnants of the past we were trying to leave behind.
But the more I watched him, the more I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t just the occasional moments of distance or the fleeting silences. It was in the way he avoided my gaze when he thought I wasn’t looking, the way his hands fidgeted as though restless with secrets he couldn’t bring himself to share. He was slipping away from me again, retreating behind walls I thought we’d already torn down.
I tried to reach him, tried to bridge the growing gap between us. Small gestures, light touches, soft words—I did everything I could to remind him that I was here, that we were in this together. But no matter how hard I tried, there was a distance I couldn’t cross. It was like he’d built a fortress around himself, and every attempt I made to break through only seemed to push him further away.
I planned dinners. I took him to the river. I pulled him into my arms whenever I could, holding him close as though my touch alone could fix whatever was wrong. But no matter what I did, that shadow in his eyes remained.
I couldn’t run away this time. I wouldn’t.
Whatever this was, whatever bombshell he was keeping from me, I was determined to stay. To face it with him, no matter how much it hurt.
The evening sun bathed the farm in warm golden light, casting long shadows across the fields. I stepped out onto the porch, looking for Oliver. I found him standing a little ways off, his back to me, staring out at the horizon.
His posture was tense, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. The soft breeze ruffled his hair, and the way the sunlight hit him made my heart ache.
Quietly, I walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. He stiffened for just a moment before relaxing into my embrace.
“Hey,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck.
He tilted his head slightly, giving me better access. “Hey.”
His voice was warm but distant, like his mind was somewhere else.
I tightened my hold on him, resting my chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly.
I smiled against his neck, letting the warmth of my breath tickle his skin. “Don’t lie to me, Oliver. I know you better than that.”
“I’m not lying,” he said, but there was a falter in his voice, a hesitation that gave him away.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I teased gently, turning him slightly so I could see his face. “Come on. Talk to me. You know you can trust me.”
He hesitated, his eyes flicking away from mine before returning. “It’s nothing, Gabriel. Really.”
“It’s not nothing,” I said, my tone soft but insistent. “You’ve been distant lately. Lost in thought. I’ve noticed.”
Oliver sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”
“Oliver,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Please. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not going anywhere.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever was on his mind. Finally, he opened them, his gaze meeting mine.
“I got a call,” he said quietly.
My heart skipped a beat. “What kind of call?”
“From New York,” he said, his voice barely audible. “It’s about my father. He’s… he’s sick.”
The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken.
I didn’t know what to say. I knew Oliver’s relationship with his father was complicated—strained didn’t even begin to cover it. The man had been a source of pain and resentment for most of Oliver’s life, and I knew he harbored a deep, lingering bitterness toward him.
But he was still his father.
I tightened my hold on him, pressing my forehead to the side of his head. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.
He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted after a long pause. “I don’t even know how to feel. Part of me doesn’t care. He’s never been there for me, not really. But the other part of me…”
His voice trailed off, and I could feel the conflict in him, the war between anger and obligation, between resentment and compassion.
“It’s okay to feel that way,” I said gently. “It’s okay to not know how to feel. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”
He turned to face me fully, his expression torn. “What if I don’t want to see him? What if I don’t want to… to deal with it?”
“Then you don’t have to,” I said firmly. “It’s your choice, Oliver. No one else’s. You don’t owe him anything.”
His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of relief.
“But,” I added, “if you do decide to go, I’ll be there with you. Every step of the way.”
His breath hitched, a soft, broken sound that sliced through the quiet. He leaned into me, his weight pressing against mine, his forehead resting heavily on my shoulder. For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of us standing there, bound together by invisible threads of shared pain and unspoken words.
I held him tightly, my arms circling his trembling frame as if I could shield him from whatever storm was raging inside him. I didn’t say anything—what was there to say? Words felt useless in the face of such raw emotion. Instead, I let my presence speak for me, offering him what little comfort I could, hoping it would be enough to keep him from breaking apart entirely.
The fading light of the day cast long shadows across the ground, painting the world in shades of gold and gray. The air was still, heavy with the weight of the moment, and even the forest seemed to hold its breath as if bearing witness to something sacred and fragile.
We stood there, locked in silence, as the minutes stretched into what felt like hours. I felt the warmth of his breath against my neck, uneven and shallow, and the way his hands clung to my shirt as though I were his lifeline. It was both heartbreaking and humbling, this silent plea for solace that he couldn’t put into words.
And when the time came for that truth to come out, I only hoped I would be strong enough to face it.