Chapter 41 Laney
Laney
We only go into town because we need diapers.
And because the doctor insists sunlight will do both of us good.
Saint insists on coming.
He always does.
We park along Main Street.
The hardware store is still a blackened shell.
Charred beams.
Boarded windows.
Smoke stains climbing the brick like scars.
I try not to look at it.
I fail.
Saint notices.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
His hand brushes my elbow.
“We’ll get through this.”
I nod.
But I don’t know what this means anymore.
Inside the general store, Mrs. Whitaker is restocking shelves with the careful, deliberate energy of someone pretending everything is normal.
“How’s the baby?” she asks, leaning over the carrier.
“Growing,” I say. “Loudly.”
She smiles.
Then the smile fades.
“You heard about Miller’s, right?”
Saint stiffens slightly beside me.
“Heard what?” he asks.
Mrs. Whitaker hesitates.
“They can’t rebuild. Not yet. Some company filed an appeal. Everything’s frozen.”
“Frozen?” I ask.
“Insurance. Permits. Construction funds. All of it.”
My stomach drops.
“Why?”
She shrugs uneasily.
“Paperwork. Environmental review. Something like that.”
Saint’s jaw tightens.
“And who filed it?”
“Some company out of state,” she says. “Northstar, I think.”
I don’t know why the name makes the air feel colder.
But it does.
“That’s… not normal, is it?” I ask.
Mrs. Whitaker shakes her head slowly.
“No.”
Her voice drops.
“It’s not.”
We walk out of the store in silence.
I glance back toward the burned hardware store.
At the boarded windows.
At the blackened roofline.
This wasn’t just a fire.
It was a foothold.
“They’re not done,” I say softly.
“No,” Saint agrees.
“They’re just getting started.”
I look at him.
Really look at him.
And for the first time, something inside me shifts.
Not fear.
Resolve.
“What do we do?” I ask.
Saint doesn’t answer right away.
His gaze drifts down the street.
Past the stores.
Past the houses.
Past the town he refuses to abandon.
When he finally speaks, his voice is steady.
“We stay.”
I tighten my grip on the baby carrier.
“We don’t run,” he continues. “We don’t panic.”
I nod slowly.
And in that moment something changes between us.
We’re not just two people raising a child together.
We’re standing on the same side of something bigger.
Something worth fighting for.