Chapter Twelve
Briar
A week later, I reach for the pencil on the nightstand and scratch shakily across the page in my lap:
GO TODAY?
Rafe winces as he stares at me. “When you go is up to you, Briar. You deserve choice.”
Choice
I don’t know how to hold that word. I clutch it anyway.
I point at him, then at the door. My fingers tremble.
TODAY. WITH YOU.
His exhale shakes. He nods instantly. “Of course. I’ll take you. I’ll stay with you. Every second. You’re not doing this alone.”
A knot unclenches inside me. One I’ve carried so long I forgot it wasn’t part of my bones.
He waits, searching my eyes, letting me lead.
I close the distance between us and rest my forehead against his chest, needing him to hold me together for this. His arms wrap around me slow, careful, steady. His heart knocks against my cheek—strong, certain, terrified of losing me.
I write one more word on the page.
READY.
Rafe lifts my chin with two fingers, eyes warm and fierce at once. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go find your people.”
He stands, laces his fingers with mine, and leads me toward the door. My legs shake, but I walk anyway.
Down the path. Toward the past. Toward the girl I used to be.
And then I’m coming back with the man I choose now.
The truck door closes with a thick, heavy thump that makes my pulse jump.
Rafe circles to the driver’s side, moving slowly. I sit stiff in the seat. I’ve ridden in cars before. I remember that. But my body doesn’t.
The truck groans when he turns the key, and I flinch hard.
His hand comes to rest on the seat between us—palm open. A silent offer.
My hand hovers over his, fingers trembling. I want to grab, to hide my shaking in his warmth, but I can’t make contact. Not yet. Too much noise inside me.
The truck rumbles down the path. Trees thin. The sky widens. My ears ring.
The world looks wrong without the mountain wrapped around me.
Rafe keeps his eyes on the road. “If you get overwhelmed, sweetheart, you touch me. Anywhere. Just let me know you need me.”
I slide my fingers toward him, slow and uncertain, until they touch the side of his hand. Just a brush. Barely contact. But it steadies me.
He flips his palm over and folds his fingers around mine gently. A warm, steady anchor.
As we leave the ridge behind, memories scrape at me—bright kitchens, laughter, birthdays, the smell of my mother’s coffee. Then darkness shoves those images aside. Daryl’s voice. His bootsteps. His hands. The cage I lived inside without bars.
Rafe squeezes my fingers once, grounding me. “I’m right here.”
I hold onto him so I don’t disappear into the past.
We reach town faster than I expect. The houses look smaller than I remember. Softer. My chest aches.
Rafe pulls into a gravel drive. There’s a porch with peeling paint. Flowerpots with soil but no blooms. A wind chime hanging crooked from the gutter.
I know this place. My mother’s house.
My heartbeat crushes my ribs. My lungs forget how to work.
Rafe parks the truck and turns to me. “We don’t go in until you’re ready. You tell me when.”
I shake. I nod. I reach for the door handle—and freeze. My hands won’t obey.
Rafe leans across the seat, slow and gentle, and opens the door for me. He steps out first, trots around the front, then offers me his hand.
I take it.
The porch door bangs open.
A girl—older than the last time I saw her, but with the same round cheeks and wide eyes—runs out onto the steps. She stops dead. Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Briar?” Her voice cracks on my name, like it’s been breaking inside her for years.
Her knees buckle. Tears spill instantly.
Then my mother appears behind her. Her hair is streaked with gray now. Her face is thin. Her eyes look tired in a way that has nothing to do with age.
She sees me.
She drops to her knees on the porch, sobbing so hard her whole body folds over itself.
I grip Rafe’s hand so tight my knuckles burn.
He steps closer behind me, solid, warm, unmovable.
My sister reaches me first. She touches my arm as her fingers tremble. Then she throws her arms around my waist and sobs into my shoulder.
My mother crawls down the steps on trembling hands, reaching for me, another sob cracking free.
I stand frozen, shaking, overwhelmed—but not alone.
Rafe’s hand slides to the small of my back, grounding me, steadying me as I reach—slow, careful—and place my palm on my mother’s cheek.
She breaks open all over again.
Once we make our way inside, the kitchen smells the same.
Old wood. Coffee grounds. Lemon cleaner. It shouldn’t feel familiar after everything, but it slides deep in my ribs—soft and aching.
My mother wipes her eyes with trembling fingers as she sets a cup of water in front of me. She tries to steady her hands, but they still shake. My sister sits across from me, knees bouncing under the table, biting her lip bloody to keep from crying again.
I sit between them, small and shaking, as the girl in the picture and the woman in the woods fight inside the same skin.
Rafe stands by the doorway, hat in his hands, shoulders broad and tense. His eyes never leave me. Not hovering. Watching. Guarding.
I look at him then at my mother. Suddenly, the space between them feels too wide. Reaching back, I find Rafe’s hand. My fingers curl into his, then I tug—gentle, but certain—pulling him one step closer.
My other hand lifts, pointing to him. Then to me. Then I press my palm flat to his chest. Turning, I point to my mother, then to Bethany.
My family.
Rafe stills beside me, understanding settling into his shoulders. He dips his head once.
“Ma’am,” he says, voice low and steady. “Rafe.”
My mom shakes his hand. “I’m Shannon, and this is Briar’s younger sister, Bethany.”
“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m the one who found Briar when she escaped… the danger.”
My mother reaches for my face, then stops, terrified of hurting me. “Honey…” Her voice breaks. “You don’t have to tell us anything. You’re here. You’re alive. That’s enough.”
I want to speak. I want to say I missed her. I want to say I tried to come home. I want to say I thought I’d never see her again. But nothing moves.
My voice stays locked behind the memory of hands forcing it closed.
I shake my head and push the cup aside, reaching for the scrap of paper Rafe tucked into my jacket before we came inside. He knew I’d need it. He always knows.
The pencil trembles between my fingers as I scratch out a word:
BAD MAN
My mother’s breath leaves her in a choked sob. My sister covers her mouth and cries silently. They don’t ask questions. They don’t push. They just listen with their whole bodies.
I write again, slower:
HURT
My mother’s hand skims the table, stopping inches from mine. “Baby… I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
My sister leans forward. “We looked every day. Flyers. Flyers. The sheriff. We never stopped. We never—” Her voice cracks and she has to stop. “How, Briar?”
I reach for the pencil again. My hand shakes, but I need them to know. Need them to understand I didn’t just disappear. I write slowly, pressing hard so the letters are clear.
CREEK. SWIMMING. LOST FROM FRIENDS.
I tap the words. Then I touch my bare feet—still always bare, still always the feet of the girl who ran into the woods that summer afternoon without shoes.
My mother makes a sound like something tearing loose inside her. Bethany covers her mouth. They understand. That ordinary afternoon. That last ordinary day. How close to home I was when everything changed.
My mother wipes her eyes. “We’ll call the sheriff,” she says gently. “Let them know you’re home. They’ll take you off the list.”
My heartbeat skips as I reach for the paper, but she places her fingers on my hand.
“No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want,” she adds quickly. “No questions you don’t want to answer. We just… want the searching to stop.”
The searching.
I nod once.
That feels right.
I fold the paper once and clutch it against my chest before setting it down. That girl deserved better. So does this one. Then I nod once. Quick. Sharp. Needed. I want them to know I believe them.
My mother wipes her cheeks and asks gently, “Do you… want to come home? We can take care of you. You don’t have to—”
Before she finishes, my body reacts.
My hand jerks toward the doorway before I even realize I’m doing it. My fingers curl like they’re reaching for Rafe’s shirt.
He doesn’t step forward. He waits as the space between us pulls tight.
I press the pencil to the paper again. My hand shakes so badly Rafe takes a half-step before catching himself.
I write:
SAFE WITH HIM
I don’t hesitate. My mother’s lips tremble. Her eyes move slowly to Rafe and they’re filled with gratitude more than anything else, seeing care for her little girl that she didn’t dare hope for.
I write another word, slower this time:
LOVE
The word shakes through me when I write it. My sister sobs openly now, arms wrapped around herself. My mother covers her mouth, tears spilling down her wrist.
I write the final word with a steadier hand:
STAY
NOT HERE. WITH HIM.
My mother stands, feet unsteady, and walks around the table. She kneels beside me, strokes my hair behind my ear with shaking fingers, and whispers:
“Then stay with him, baby. As long as he treats you gentle. As long as he keeps you safe. And come home when you can. You’re ours. But you don’t belong to us.”
And somehow that makes me feel more hers, not less. Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.
My mother turns her head toward Rafe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for saving my baby.”
Rafe lowers his gaze. “Ma’am… it was an honor.”
I reach for his hand, and he comes straight to me.
The sun is lower when we step onto the porch.
My mother hugs me again, gentle and careful, as if she’s afraid a strong breeze will undo me. Her fingers tremble against my back. My sister clings to my waist like she did when she was small, face tucked into my chest.
I hold both of them. Not tightly but enough to let them know I’m here. Alive. Choosing this moment.
My mother pulls away first. Her eyes are swollen but soft. “You come visit when you can,” she whispers. “No pressure. No guilt. Just… let us see your face now and then.”
I nod. My throat aches too much to try words, but she seems to understand anyway.
My sister wipes her cheeks and grabs both my hands. “I’m proud of you,” she says, voice cracking. “For surviving. For finding someone good. For choosing your life. Whatever it looks like.”
Rafe stands on the bottom step, hat in hand, shoulders loose, eyes warm. Just waiting as he gives us space.
My mother steps down one stair and places a hand on his arm. “Take care of her.”
Rafe stiffens. “With everything I am.”
He glances at me, then back at her. “And if either of you want to see her before she’s ready to come down, you can come up. I’ll show you the way myself. Or come get you. Whatever she wants. Whatever makes it easier.”
My mother’s face crumples all over again.
Rafe keeps his voice low and steady. “She doesn’t have to lose one home to keep another.”
Something inside me goes so still it almost hurts.
My mother grips his forearm. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head once. “She’s got people on that mountain. But she’s still got people here too.”
My mom nods, satisfied, and kisses my forehead before going back inside. My sister waves through her tears, calling out, “Love you!”
The door closes.
The porch goes quiet as I shake. With something lighter than fear, something unsteady but alive.
Rafe moves to open the truck door for me, but I stop him.
I reach for his hand first. My fingers slip into his.
I climb in with his help—no hesitation, no freeze, no flinch.
When he joins me inside, I lean into his side without needing to think about it.
The cab smells like pine, leather, and him. Safe.
He starts the engine, but he doesn’t drive yet. He looks at me like he’s searching for any sign I regret choosing him.
“Sweet girl,” he says, voice thick, “if you want to stay here a little longer, we can. You could stay the night. I’ll come back for you in the morning. You don’t have to rush back up the mountain. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.”
I shake my head and rest my fingers on his wrist. His pulse jumps under my touch as I point toward the service road.
The word builds in my chest—heavy, tight, new. It hurts, but it’s a good hurt. A breaking-open kind of hurt.
I swallow. Push air through the tightness.
And whisper, soft but certain: “Home.”
Rafe’s hand trembles under mine. His jaw works like he’s fighting tears he refuses to shed in front of anyone but me. Slowly, he turns his wrist and laces our fingers together, gripping tightly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Home.”
He kisses the back of my hand, gentle as butterfly wings, and pulls the truck onto the road. I keep my head on his shoulder the whole way up the mountain. My body loosens more with each mile.
For the first time in years, the road doesn’t feel like a path to nowhere.
It feels like a return.
To him. To myself.
To the life I’m choosing.