Rose
Anna-Marie insists on walking me to the door like I might disappear if she doesn’t keep a hand on my arm. We talked for hours over tea gone cold. One of which I spent the entire time convincing her not to rally against the town on my behalf.
Grady’s store is suffering because of me. It’s undeniable. Three times I tried to wear a veil to hide my scars and three times he tore the fabric into scraps, before carrying me off to the bedroom.
“You can stay the night,” she says for the third time. “Henry’s working late, and Keegan won’t mind.”
Keegan, blissfully unaware of adult tension, gurgles from his blanket on the floor.
I smile despite myself. “If I don’t get back before supper, Grady will worry.”
The walk home is short. Too short to brace myself.
Mrs. Calder is standing outside the dry goods shop, basket hooked over her arm, speaking in low tones to Mrs. Linton. They pause when they see me.
“Afternoon,” I say politely.
Mrs. Calder’s smile is thin and practiced. “Good afternoon, Mrs. McKinnon.”
She doesn’t move aside.
Instead, she tilts her head toward her companion and speaks just loudly enough to carry.
“Such a shame,” she says. “A man works his whole life to build something respectable, sends all the way off for a wife… and this is what arrives.”
Mrs. Linton sucks in a sharp breath.
My chest tightens.
Mrs. Calder clucks her tongue. “Poor man. You can’t help but pity him. No chance to choose properly, of course. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Her eyes flick to my face then.
I stand frozen, every instinct screaming at me to shrink, to disappear, to apologize for existing.
“I hope,” she adds lightly, “that he doesn’t expect the town to pretend it’s something it isn’t.”
Mrs. Linton murmurs something I don’t catch. I don’t want to.
I step around them, my spine rigid, my pulse roaring in my ears. I do not cry. I do not speak. I walk.
Each step feels borrowed.
By the time the store comes into view, my hands are shaking so badly I have to stop and press them against my skirts.
This isn’t about me.
This is about him.
About what it costs Grady to stand beside me.
When I reach the store, the bell above the door rings cheerfully, traitorously.
Grady looks up at once.
“Rose,” he says, smiling. “I was just thinking about—”
He stops.
The smile fades as he takes me in, the way I won’t quite meet his eyes, the way my shoulders are too tight.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
He comes around the counter anyway, gentle hands steadying mine.
“Rose.”
I swallow.
“They pity you,” I whisper.
His brow furrows. “Who does?”
“The town,” I say. “They think you were desperate. That you sent for a wife because you couldn’t do better.”
His jaw tightens, but I rush on, the words tumbling out now that they’ve found air.
“They think I’m what you were left with.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and dangerous.
Grady cups my face, thumbs warm against my cheeks.
“They’re wrong,” he says simply.
But later, lying awake beside him, listening to his even breathing, I stare at the ceiling and think of Mrs. Calder’s voice.
Poor man.
If I stay, they will keep punishing him for choosing me.
By morning, I already know what I have to do. Divorcing him will break my heart, but watching his dream die will destroy me.
I don’t remember moving, only that suddenly I’m at the small kitchen table with my hands wrapped around a mug.
“You don’t understand,” I say. “This town is eating you alive because of me.”
Grady leans against the counter, arms folded, watching me the way he always does, as if I am something worth studying carefully.
“I understand just fine,” he says. “You’re trying to save me by breaking your own heart.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s accurate.”
I laugh, sharp and brittle. “If this shop fails—”
“I’ll do something else.”
“You’ve worked too hard—”
He pushes away from the counter then, crossing the room in three long strides. He crouches in front of me, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“You are my wife,” he says firmly. “No business could ever be worth more to me than you are.”
My breath stutters.
“Grady…”
“I didn’t marry you because it was convenient,” he continues. “I married you because the moment you stepped off that stagecoach, my life made sense in a way it never had before. You think I don’t see what this town is doing? I see it. And I am choosing you anyway.”
Tears blur my vision. I hate them. I’ve cried enough for one lifetime.
“What if they never come around?” I whisper.
“Then they’ll never shop here again,” he replies without hesitation. “And I will still wake up every morning married to the bravest woman I know.”
Brave.
No one has ever called me that.
“I love you,” he says, simply, like it’s a fact as solid as the floor beneath us. “I loved you before you believed me. I’ll love you long after this town forgets why it ever turned its back.”
Something in my chest finally gives way.
I sob once, harsh and ugly, and Grady is there immediately, pulling me into him, my face pressed against his shoulder. He holds me like I am precious.
“I’m scared,” I admit into his shirt.
“I know.”
“And I don’t know how to be the woman you deserve.”
He tips my chin up gently, forcing me to look at him.
“Rose,” he says softly. “You already are.”
I kiss him then.
Not carefully. Not politely.
I kiss him like a woman who has finally decided to believe she is loved.