CH 38:

Sleep was a battlefield. Renee twisted beneath the sheets, caught in a fog of broken dreams and distorted memories. She saw Mike’s face—smiling, then fading. Jake’s voice whispering I still love you over and over as the walls of the loft closed in. In one moment, she was kissing one of them. In the next, they were both gone, and she stood alone in the empty barn, screaming into silence. She jerked awake with a gasp. The morning light slipped through the curtains, soft and golden, too calm for the storm in her chest. Her heart was racing, her body slick with sweat. She sat up slowly, pushing her hair from her face—and then froze.

Jake stood in the doorway.

He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, barefoot, holding two mugs of coffee, his expression tight and unreadable. “*Morning*,” he said finally, quietly. Renee swallowed thickly. “Hey.”
He stepped into the room and handed her one of the mugs. The ceramic was warm, grounding. She wrapped her hands around it like it might steady her.
“*There’s something you should read*,” Jake said, his voice a little rough.
That’s when she saw the folded note on the nightstand. Her breath caught.
She reached for it, her fingers trembling before she even touched the paper. Mike’s handwriting was unmistakable—neat, careful, deliberate. She unfolded it with aching hesitation.

***"Renee,***

***I don’t know how to say this right, so I’ll just say it. Last night shook me more than I admitted. I told you I was okay—but the truth is, I don’t know how I feel. I love you. God, I love you. But I also saw something in your eyes last night that wasn’t mine. And I’m not angry about it. I just want you to have the space to figure it out for real. This shouldn’t be something we laugh off as a drunken game. Love’s too serious for that. And you’re too important to me.***
***So I’m going to give us both some time.***
***Not because I want to walk away, but because I want to come back when it’s right—when you’re sure. I don’t want to be someone you choose because I’m the safer option or the one standing still. I want to be chosen because you feel it. All the way.***
***And if it turns out you love Jake more... then it’s okay. It’ll break me, yeah. But it’s okay.***
***Just promise me, whatever happens—don’t carry regret. You deserve better than that.***

***\-Mike"***

Renee read the note three times. By the end, her hand was shaking. She looked up at Jake, who watched her with that same quiet restraint he always carried when things got too heavy.
Tears filled her eyes, but this time, she didn’t wipe them away. Because Mike was gone.
And nothing—nothing—felt simple anymore.
Renee stared at the letter long after her eyes had stopped moving across the words. Her fingers trembled around the page, the ink starting to smudge from where her tears had fallen.
She folded it gently, like it was something sacred, and stood.
Jake watched her without a word, his posture still and careful, like he didn’t know whether to comfort her or give her space. She walked to him slowly, no rush in her steps, no energy for pretense. When she reached him, she held out the letter. He took it without question.

And then she walked past him—barefoot, coffee cooling in her hand, her chest hollow and aching—and out the front door. The morning air hit her like a breath she’d been holding in all night. It was chilly, damp with dew, and it clung to her skin like a second layer of heaviness. She padded down the worn path to the barn, her toes curling against the cold dirt. The animals stirred lazily as she entered, a few soft bleats and shifting hooves the only greeting.She didn’t need distraction. She needed movement.
She began her morning routine in silence, brushing the mare’s coat with slow, methodical strokes, her mind too loud to listen to anything else. She blinked hard against the fresh wave of tears when she opened the feed bins, the simple tasks reminding her of the normalcy that had been broken—of Mike’s arms around her just days ago, of the way he’d kissed her like she was home.

And now he was gone. Twenty minutes passed. She didn’t look up when the barn door creaked again, but she knew it was Jake. He didn’t speak at first. She heard the soft shuffle of his boots on straw, the quiet intake of his breath as he approached. Then, gently, he draped a flannel hoodie around her shoulders. “*Thought you might be cold*,” he said quietly.
She nodded but didn’t say anything, slipping her arms into the sleeves, letting the warmth settle over her like a memory she didn’t ask for. He stayed beside her, not close enough to crowd, but near enough that she felt him. He reached for a feed scoop and glanced her way.

“*What do I give the goats?*” he asked. She blinked. “*Pellets. The blue bin*.” He nodded and got to work.
“*What about the chickens?*” “*Scratch mix. Yellow bucket.”* with on last question he asked, *“And... can I pet them?”* That made her lips twitch, just slightly. “*Yeah. They like it*.”
The silence between them returned, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. It was soft. Lingering. A space where hurt existed without needing to be named. Jake worked quietly, mirroring her pace, never pushing, never prying. She leaned against the stall wall eventually, watching him scatter feed and laugh softly when one of the goats tried to nibble his shirt.
And then—finally—she broke.
*“I don’t know how I feel*,” she said, voice raw. *“About any of it.”* Jake looked over his shoulder but didn’t move closer. *“I’m hurt. Because he left. But I know he was trying to be kind. It’s just... I feel like everything broke at once. And now I’m standing in the middle of it not knowing what pieces to pick up.”*
He stood there for a long moment, then said softly, *“I get it.”* She closed her eyes. *“I keep thinking about what you said. Last night. About still loving me.”* Jake exhaled slowly. “*I meant it.”*
*“I know,”* she whispered. *“And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about you too. About... what we used to be.”* He turned then, fully facing her. The sunlight streaming through the barn caught the golden brown edges of his hair, softening him in a way that made her chest ache.

*“I’ve tried to get over you, Renee,”* he said. *“Even before I came back, I told myself I’d moved on. But being here with you? It’s made me realize I never really did.”* She looked down at her hands, dirt-smudged and trembling. *“I’m not sure if I have either,”* she admitted, barely more than a breath.
Jake didn’t press her. He didn’t reach for her. He just nodded, slow and understanding, like he’d been carrying that truth too.
And together, in the quiet morning light, they returned to feeding animals—two people surrounded by life, haunted by love, and still searching for what it meant to move forward.