19. Callie
CALLIE
I sent the email at the rescue, sitting on the floor of the feed room with my laptop balanced on a hay bale.
The divorce attorney had asked me to confirm I wanted to move forward. I typed yes and hit send before I could think too hard about it. My finger hovered over the mouse for a second after it went through. The cursor just blinked at me from the empty inbox.
Done.
I closed the laptop and set it aside, then pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them.
The concrete floor was cold even through my jeans.
A goat bleated from one of the pens outside, probably Mabel demanding her second breakfast even though she'd already eaten.
I heard Jolene's voice answering her, low and soothing, the way she talked to all of them.
I should get up. There was work to do — there was always work to do at a rescue. But I just sat there, staring at the bags of grain stacked against the wall.
The attorney had sent a follow-up an hour later.
Wade wasn't contesting anything. He'd signed the papers his lawyer sent over, agreed to all the terms, and hadn't asked for a single change.
It was the fastest uncontested divorce she'd ever processed, she'd said, like she thought I'd be happy about the efficiency.
I wasn't.
I'd wanted this. I'd asked for it. I'd left the ranch and moved my entire life back to the rescue so I could get away from him and his family and Shelby and all of it. I'd wanted the divorce to go through quickly so it would stop dragging out, stop hurting every single day.
But knowing he wasn't fighting it felt like something breaking in my chest all over again.
He was letting me go. He was letting the marriage end without a word. That was it, then — he didn't want me enough to try. Maybe he'd never wanted me at all. Maybe I'd been convenient, and now that I wasn't, he was just . . . done.
God, I was so stupid. I'd known this was coming. I'd asked for it. But some part of me must have thought he'd fight, that he'd show up here and tell me he wasn't signing anything, that he'd at least care enough to argue.
He hadn't.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, hard enough that colors bloomed behind my eyelids. My throat felt tight and my chest ached, but I wasn't going to cry about this. Not again. I'd already cried enough over Wade Rutledge to last a lifetime.
The marriage was over. I'd asked for the divorce, and now I was getting it. That was what I wanted.
I repeated it to myself until it sounded almost true.
When I finally stood up, my legs were stiff and my hands were shaking. I brushed the dust off my jeans and picked up the laptop. I needed to get out of here before Jolene came looking for me and found me sitting on the floor like some pathetic mess.
Too late.
"Callie?" Jolene's voice came from the doorway. I turned, and she was standing there with a bucket in one hand and a worried look on her face that I absolutely did not want to deal with right now. "You okay?"
"Fine." I forced a smile. It probably looked as fake as it felt. "Just taking a break."
She set the bucket down and crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. Jolene had known me since we were kids. She could spot a lie from a mile away, and we both knew it.
"You want to come over tonight?" she asked. "I've got leftover chili, and I was going to open a bottle of wine."
I should have said no. I should have gone back to my little apartment above the rescue office and spent the evening alone, the way I'd been doing since I left.
But the thought of sitting there by myself, staring at the walls and thinking about Wade's signature on those divorce papers, made my stomach turn.
"Yeah," I said. "Okay."
Her smile was small and soft, the kind that said she understood more than I'd told her. "Good. Come by around seven."
I showed up at Jolene's house with a bottle of red wine I'd grabbed from the store and absolutely no idea what I was going to say if she asked me about Wade. Which she would, because Jolene never left a hard conversation alone when she thought I needed to have it.
She opened the door before I could knock, like she'd been watching for me. "Get in here. It's freezing."
It wasn't, really — nights could go either way, and tonight was mild — but I followed her inside anyway.
Her house was small and warm, cluttered in the way that made it feel lived-in instead of messy.
There were books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket thrown over the back of the couch, and the smell of chili and cornbread coming from the kitchen.
I handed her the wine and shrugged off my jacket. "You didn't have to cook."
"I didn't. I made it yesterday." She disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard the sound of the bottle being opened, the chili being reheated. I sat on the couch and pulled the blanket over my lap even though I wasn't cold.
When she came back, she had two bowls and two glasses of wine balanced on a tray. She handed me one of each and sat down beside me, tucking her feet under her.
We ate in silence for a while. The chili was good — Jolene's cooking always was — and the wine went down easy. I finished half my bowl before I realized she was watching me.
"What?" I asked.
"You're quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"Not like this." She set her bowl on the coffee table and picked up her wine. "What happened?"
I could have lied. I could have told her it was nothing, that I was just tired. But I was so sick of pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.
"The divorce is going through," I said. My voice came out flat, like I was talking about the weather. "Wade's not contesting it. He signed everything."
Jolene didn't say anything for a long moment. Then she reached over and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's what I wanted."
"Callie—"
"It is." I pulled my hand back and took a drink of wine, too fast. It burned going down. "I asked for the divorce. I left. This is exactly what I wanted."
She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, but she didn't push it. Instead, she said, "I heard something the other day."
My stomach tightened. "What?"
"Wade stepped back from his brand business." She said it carefully, like she was testing the words. "He's not traveling anymore. He's staying on the ranch."
I blinked at her. "What do you mean, he stepped back?"
"I mean he handed off the expansion deals to his management team and told them he's staying local for a while. He's working the ranch full-time now, the way he used to before the business took off."
That didn't make any sense. Wade's brand was everything to him — the boots, the western wear, the beef contracts, all of it. He'd spent years building it into an empire. He didn't just step back from something like that.
"Why?" I asked.
Jolene shrugged. "I don't know. I just heard it from my cousin who works at the feed store. Apparently the whole town's talking about it."
Of course they were. The Rutledge family didn't do anything without everyone in three counties knowing about it.
I set my wine glass down before I could drop it. My hands were shaking again. "When did this happen?"
"Last week, I think. Maybe the week before."
After he got the divorce papers, then. After I'd left.
And Wade had no idea I was sitting here hearing any of it.
God, what was he doing?
I realized I'd said it out loud when Jolene answered. "I don't know, Cal. But it sounds like he's trying."
"Trying what?" My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. "Trying to prove a point? Trying to make me feel guilty? It doesn't matter. He signed the papers. He's letting me go."
"Maybe he's letting you go because that's what you asked for."
I wanted to argue with her, but I couldn't. She was right. I had asked for it. I'd told him I wanted a divorce, and he was giving me one. What was I supposed to do with that?
"It doesn't change anything," I said.
Jolene didn't answer. She just picked up her wine and took a sip, watching me over the rim of the glass.
I looked down at my hand, at the bare place on my finger where my wedding ring used to be.
I'd taken it off the night I left the ranch, and Wade still had it — I'd left it on the pillow on his side of the bed when I walked out.
The skin there was pale, a faint line marking where the band had been for ten years.
I rubbed my thumb over the empty space without thinking about it. It still felt wrong, not having it there. Like I was missing a piece of myself.
"Do you think he's changed?" Jolene asked.
I looked up at her. She was watching me with that careful expression she got when she was trying not to push too hard.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what I thought.
Wade had signed the divorce papers without fighting, which meant he was letting me go.
But he'd also stepped back from his business, which was the one thing I'd wanted from him for years — more time, more presence, more of him actually being there instead of halfway across the country closing another deal.
But it was too late now, wasn't it? The papers were signed. The marriage was over. Even if he had changed, even if he meant it this time, how was I supposed to trust that it would last?
I'd spent ten years waiting for him to choose me over his work, over his family, over Shelby and her father's oil deals.
What if I went back and nothing was different? What if he'd just stepped back from the business to get me to come home, and the second I did, everything went right back to the way it was?
I couldn't do that again. I couldn't survive it.
But God, what if he really had changed? What if this time was different, and I was throwing it away because I was too scared to believe him?
I looked at Jolene, and I couldn't make myself answer her question.
She didn't push. She just nodded, like she understood, and picked up her bowl again.
We finished dinner without talking about Wade again. Jolene told me about the new goats that had come in last week, and I told her about the calf I'd been bottle-feeding at night. We drank the rest of the wine and pretended everything was normal, the way we always did.
But even with Jolene right there beside me, I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said.
Do you think he's changed?
I didn't know. I didn't know if I believed he could change, or if I even wanted him to anymore. The marriage was over. I'd asked for the divorce, and he'd signed the papers. That should have been the end of it.
But sitting there in Jolene's house, touching the bare skin where my ring used to be, listening to her tell me that Wade had walked away from the business he'd built his whole life around — I felt something I didn't want to feel.
Hope.
God, I hated it. I hated that I still wanted him to fight for me. I hated that some stupid, naive part of me thought maybe this time would be different. I hated that I couldn't just let him go and move on the way I was supposed to.
But the hope was there anyway, small and fragile and absolutely terrifying.
I didn't know what to do with it.