Chapter 25
Dear Sam,
I thought I saw you today at the farmer’s market.
Silly, I know. The man had on a cowboy hat and looked like you from behind. I even reached out and touched his shoulder.
But when he turned around it wasn’t you.
And just like that, I was standing in the middle of a crowd, somehow more alone than I’ve ever felt.
I can’t believe it’s only been a week since I left the ranch. It feels longer, like the world has spun further without you in it.
Every morning, I wake up reaching for you.
Every night, I fall asleep with your name on my lips and tears soaking my pillow.
Tish thinks I should go back to Broken Heart Creek, that I should wait there until I find you. But according to social media, you’re in Nashville.
And I don’t want to chase you because I’m scared. What if you’ve moved on or can’t forgive me, even when I’m offering the truth?
I miss you, Sam. So much it aches.
Love,
Charlie
Dear Sam,
Your new song came on the radio today.
I was at the salon, halfway through a haircut, and suddenly your voice filled the room. And then it filled me.
It was our song. The one you played for me under the trees, wrapped in a blanket of stars.
I didn’t just cry, Sam. I broke.
The stylist thought something was wrong, but I couldn’t explain that the man I love had just whispered his heart into my ears from a thousand miles away.
I’m so proud of you.
And I miss you more than I know how to say.
Love,
Charlie
Dear Sam,
It’s been a month since I saw you. Since I touched you. Since I heard you whisper my name against my skin.
You’re everywhere. On the radio. On morning shows. In the lines of articles and photos online.
You’re everywhere. Except with me .
And while the world gets to see you, I’m here, missing you with everything I am.
I want the real you. Sleep-warm skin and hushed midnight promises. Not echoes. Not shadows.
Come back to me.
Please.
Love,
Charlie
Dear Sam,
Tish and I went back to Broken Heart Creek.
We thought maybe we’d see you or Phern, or Liam, or Will.
Sherry at Knot and Spur said she only saw you once since I left. She said you looked hollow. Said you hadn’t slept in days.
Me too, Sam.
I walk through life like I’m in a dream I can’t wake up from. I smile when I have to. I eat when someone makes me. But inside? Inside, I’m still on that ranch, looking for you in every creak of the floorboards.
I miss you.
God, I miss you.
Love,
Charlie
Dear Sam,
I had a job interview today at a local news station. It wasn’t what I pictured when I first started in this industry, but they saw something in me. They offered me a producer position .
Saying yes felt like letting go. Like I was folding up the chapter of us and putting it on a shelf. But maybe moving forward isn’t the same as giving up. Maybe it’s just breathing through the pain.
Because I still love you.
I always will.
Love,
Charlie
Dear Sam,
I started the new job this week. It’s different from anything I’ve ever done. The team respects me. I have a voice. I’m learning again. Tonight, I went out to dinner with some of the staff. We laughed, shared stories. I even caught myself smiling like it didn’t hurt.
But nothing touches that space in my chest that belongs to you. That space where your laugh used to echo, and your hands used to rest.
I heard your interview. You sounded tired. I wonder… do you still wake up reaching for me, too?
Wherever you are, I love you.
I always will.
Love,
Charlie
Dear Sam,
It’s been two months since I left the ranch.
Two months since I watched you disappear down that long gravel road not knowing it’d be the last time I saw you. Two months since I walked away from the only place that ever truly felt like home .
I regret it every single day.
Life is moving on around me. People laugh. Traffic hums. The world spins. But I feel stuck like I’m suspended in time, caught between what was and what could have been.
I go through the motions.
I wake up.
I shower.
I try to eat.
But the truth is I’m unraveling.
My heartache has made me sick. It sits in my stomach like a stone. It burns in my throat when I try to speak your name. I don’t sleep, not really. And when I do, I dream of you. And every morning I wake up reaching for you. And every morning, I remember you’re not there.
I don’t know how to move forward without you.
I don’t want to.
Sam…
I love you.
With every aching, stubborn, fractured piece of me.
Always,
Charlie
“Charlotte,” Tish whispers gently, crouching beside where I’m curled on the couch. “You have to stop this. It’s not healthy.”
I lift my gaze to meet hers, eyes swollen and rimmed in red. I haven’t cried today, but the tears are never far.
“I don’t know how to stop,” I rasp.
Her hand tightens around mine. “Then let’s start small. First step? You’re going to see a doctor. This bug you’ve had for days? I don’t like it.”
I nod faintly as another wave of nausea swells through my gut. It’s been like this all week. Vomiting, dizziness, zero appetite. Even the smell of coffee makes me gag now. I keep telling myself it’s just the stress, the sadness. That it’s all in my head.
But when I close my eyes to sleep, I see him. His eyes. His hands. His mouth saying darlin’ like it still means something.
Getting dressed feels like climbing a mountain. I shuffle to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and tie my hair into a limp bun. I avoid the mirror but catch a glimpse anyway. The woman looking back at me is unfamiliar. Pale. Hollow. Haunted.
I throw on a t-shirt and leggings that hang too loose on my normally curvy frame and make my way to the living room, where Tish is waiting.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod, even though I’m not.
Outside, the sun is sharp and blinding. It glares off cars and concrete, making my temples throb. The usual morning traffic hum feels too loud, too fast, like the world is racing ahead while I’m stuck in place.
Tish unlocks her car, and I slide in silently. She doesn’t push me to talk. She just drives, her hand occasionally reaching over to squeeze mine.
We pull into a busy clinic. Inside, the air smells like sanitizer and tension. Sneezing kids. Exhausted parents. People coughing into their elbows. We sit on cracked vinyl chairs and wait.
An hour passes. Maybe more.
Finally, “Charlotte Wilson? ”
I blink up at the nurse. My body feels separate from my brain as I rise.
“That’s me.”
Tish touches my arm. “Want me to come with?”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “I got this.”
But I don’t. Not really.
I follow the nurse down a sterile hallway, heart pounding, stomach churning. The nurse checks my blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. I stare at the faded motivational poster on the wall like it holds the answers to my unraveling. It doesn’t.
“How long have you been experiencing the symptoms?” she asks, clicking away at her tablet.
“About a week,” I murmur. “Nausea. Vomiting. Exhaustion. Headaches.”
She nods. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”
I blink. The room tilts slightly.
“What?”
She glances up. “Have you taken a test?”
“No,” I breathe. “I—I didn’t even think…”
She smiles gently, handing me a plastic cup. “Let’s start there.”
I take it with a shaking hand, moving through the hallway like I’m underwater. The sterile smell of antiseptic, the distant hum of fluorescent lights all blur together.
When I return the sample, I sit on the exam table and wrap my arms around myself.
I think about Sam.
The look in his eyes when he first kissed me. The way he whispered my name in the dark. The sound of his laugh as we mucked out the stalls together.
The way he said "baby, life, all of it. "
The door opens and the doctor steps inside, chart in hand.
“Well,” she says gently. “Congratulations, Charlotte. You’re pregnant.”
My breath leaves my lungs in a rush. My whole body stills.
Pregnant.
With Sam’s baby.
She says something about next steps, vitamins, referrals, but it all washes over me like distant waves.
Because there’s only one thing I know for sure.
I have to find him.