Chapter 17 Departures
The morning when July left for Bella, the cabin felt different in a way I couldn't immediately name.
She moved through the kitchen with that familiar, careful efficiency, opening cupboards, checking supplies, stacking containers in the fridge, repeating instructions I already knew by heart.
It wasn't that she thought I would forget.
It was simply how she loved, by making sure nothing would fall apart once she was gone.
Bella needed her, so she would be there.
I stayed near the counter, watching her without meaning to, following the small rhythm of her movements, the soft sounds of drawers closing, the quiet pauses between tasks.
I found myself holding onto those details more than usual, as if I needed to keep them somewhere, to make sure they didn't fade too quickly once the house was empty.
She turned to me after a moment, her expression softening, "You'll be alright here?" she asked.
I nodded, so she stepped closer without saying anything, slow enough for me to follow and to stop her if I needed to.
I didn't.
Her gentle and familiar arms wrapped around me. I stayed stiff for a second. Then I let myself lean, just a little. Her hand moved slowly along my back, steadying.
"I'm proud of you," she murmured against my hair, her voice soft, unbroken. "Of the woman you're becoming. You're beautiful and strong. More than you think. You went through a lot and yet you keep going, so keep healing, keep growing, I love you so much my dear."
She went back to moving around the kitchen, finishing what she had started. I stayed where I was, still watching and still holding onto the quiet in a different way now.
When she finally picked up her bag and moved toward the door, I followed a step behind without deciding to. The air outside felt cooler, clearer, and for a second I stood there, unsure what to do with the space that had already begun to open between us.
She looked at me again before leaving, her gaze steady, familiar, the same way it had always been.
"You'll be okay, I promise." she said, not as a question this time.
I didn't answer, but I held her gaze a little longer than I usually would.
When she stepped away and walked toward the car, I stayed on the porch, watching until she was out of sight. The sound of the engine faded slowly, and when it was gone, the quiet that followed felt heavier than before, more present, like it had been waiting.
For a moment, I felt that familiar pressure rise again, the instinct to retreat into it, to let it close around me the way it used to.
For a few minutes, anxiety pressed at the edges of my chest. What if something happened?
What if someone needed me at work and my voice failed?
What if being alone made everything louder?
I made coffee instead of spiraling. I reviewed patrol notes. I updated a maintenance request for a damaged sign on the north ridge. Structure steadied me and the forest had taught me that resilience was rarely dramatic.
*****
Later that afternoon, when the light had started to soften, there was a knock at the door. My body reacted before my mind did. My shoulders tightened, breath catching slightly as I stood still in the middle of the room, listening. No one came here unannounced. Not anymore.
The knock came again, patient this time. I moved slowly toward the door and when I reached the window beside the door, I forced myself to look.
Ellis stood on the porch.
For a moment, I didn't move at all.
Seeing him there felt like something old and unfinished pressing back into the present. My throat tightened instinctively, that familiar pressure rising, the one that used to silence everything before I even tried to speak.
He looked different up close. Not in a way I could easily name, but something in his posture had shifted. Less certain. More... careful.
He didn't knock again. He just waited. It took me longer than it should have to open the door. My hand rested on the handle for a few seconds before I turned it, pulling the door open just enough to face him.
"Hi," he said quietly.
I didn't answer. He nodded slightly. "I know this isn't... ideal," he started, his voice steady but softer than I remembered. "Showing up like this."
I stayed where I was, not stepping back, not inviting him in, but not closing the door either.
"I just—I needed to say this properly," he continued.
The silence stretched, but he didn't rush through it.
"When I saw you at the restaurant," he said, quieter now, "I realised I've never really apologised to you, not without hiding behind explanations or excuses.
" He paused, then let it land. "So I'm sorry.
For what I said. For how I handled everything.
For all the things I didn't say when they mattered most."
My fingers tightened slightly against the door.
"I kept things in my head instead of saying them out loud," he went on. "About us. About... intimacy. About what I was feeling, and then it came out at the worst moment and in the worst place. It is all my fault."
He exhaled, looking down briefly before meeting my eyes again.
"There was never anything wrong with you," he said.
"I need you to understand that. I was always attracted to you.
Always. That was never the problem. It was me," he said, his voice quieter now, "My own insecurities.
Things I kept buried instead of facing them.
I let them sit there until they started shaping everything between us, and instead of being honest, I let it fester. "
He shook his head, the movement restrained but heavy with it.
"You weren't the problem. Not once."
The words lingered.
"I miss you," he said, more softly. "I miss how it felt before I ruined everything."
His voice wavered then, just slightly.
"I love you, April" he said, and this time it didn't feel rushed or forced. "I think I always did. I just didn't know how to love you properly but I will learn."
The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he had said, and I couldn't speak through it. Inside, the words pressed hard against my chest, a need to tell him it was too late, that the one person I had trusted after so many years had hurt me in ways I hadn't known how to prepare for.
He nodded slowly.
"I just needed you to know, I'll wait, however long it takes. Just... give me one last chance."
A tear slipped free before he could stop it, and he brushed it away quickly.
"I'll wait," he went on, steadier now, but softer.
"As long as you need. Heal, live... even meet other people, if that's what you need.
I'll still be here. Holding on to the hope that one day you might forgive me.
.. that you might see me again." He swallowed.
"I just— I'm sorry I didn't know how to love you the way you deserved. "
For a moment, he hesitated, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded page, worn at the edges.
"I kept this," he said, holding it out. "You wrote it. You probably don't remember. I have the others too... I thought maybe this one might remind you how good we were, before I ruined it."
I took it slowly and unfolded it. The handwriting was mine. It was a one of the love notes I used to write for him when my voice failed me.
''By the way, he's a good guy, I can see that. But I can be better for you. I'm working on it, I promise.'' He added.
After a moment, he stepped back, then turned and walked off the porch. I watched him go until he disappeared down the path, the quiet returning slowly, settling into the space he left behind.
I closed the door. I remained where I was for a moment, my hand still resting against the door, letting the solid surface anchor me while everything inside slowly rearranged itself.
I let the note slip from my fingers and forced myself to breathe, searching for something quieter than his words. But instead of the cabin, my mind caught on the steady tapping of Bramwell's fingers against the table.
I held onto that sound. In... out. Tap. Pause. Tap again. Slowly, my breathing began to match it, settling into that imagined rhythm until my chest loosened and the panic softened into something I could manage.
Then, I moved slowly toward the small table by the window. The stone Bramwell had given me was still there, exactly where I had left it. I picked it up, turning it gently between my fingers,
After a moment, I reached for my phone. I just typed.
want to take a walk with me tomorrow morning?
The reply came almost instantly, like he had been holding his phone already.
Always.
Chapter 18: Gentle Hours
"I'm glad you texted me," Bramwell said as we stepped onto the trail. "I was starting to think I'd invented you for character development."
A small breath of laughter slipped out of me. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle.
"I come bearing nutrients," he said, watching me inspect it. "Or at least the idea of them."
I glanced at him, then back at the juice, "I went through a healthy phase," he said.
I gave him a look.
"Three days," he nodded. "Then I chose happiness."
A soft laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.
"But this one is really good and healthy," he went on, shaking his head slightly.
I lowered my gaze, smiling into the bottle as I took a sip.
We started walking with him slightly ahead, his longer stride setting the pace. I trailed just behind, quickening my smaller steps to keep up, adjusting myself to his rhythm. Then, gradually, he slowed. His steps shortened and aligned with mine.
"If we see a bear," he continued as we walked again, "I assume you'll handle it."
I gave him a look. He gasped slightly. "No? Wow. Abandoning me already."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
"I'll be behind you," he added quickly. "Emotionally supportive and spiritually invested, but physically... elsewhere."