Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, dark clouds crept over the hills, pouring relentless rain that drummed against the cabin roof. Daniel stood by the window, watching the downpour. The woods were drenched, the dirt paths quickly turning into muddy rivers, making any hope of trapping impossible.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
The day would be a wash, that much was clear.
Edith was sitting at the small table, her hands busy with some mending, but Daniel could tell she was just as restless as he was.
They’d been working side by side for days now, and though there was a comfortable silence between them, being stuck indoors left little to distract them from their thoughts.
Daniel leaned against the wall, his eyes scanning the cabin.
His gaze landed on the small shelf in the corner, where a few belongings from his old life remained tucked away.
Among them was something he hadn’t thought about in a long time: a Bible, worn and faded, the leather cover cracked from years of disuse.
It had been given to him just before he left home, a gift from his mother, who had always kept faith close, even when the world around her was falling apart.
Daniel hesitated, his fingers hovering over the worn leather.
He hadn’t opened the Bible in years, and touching it now pulled memories he thought he’d buried.
His past, the things he had done, had made it hard for him to turn to scripture.
But now, looking at Edith, he felt a stirring he hadn’t expected.
Clearing his throat, Daniel crossed the room and pulled the Bible from the shelf.
The leather felt rough in his hands, the pages stiff as he carefully opened it, flipping through the familiar passages his mother had once read aloud.
He hadn’t touched it in so long, but the words still brought back memories, distant and bittersweet.
Daniel crossed the room, the worn Bible in his hands, the familiar weight of it feeling different this time. He hadn’t thought much about the book in years, but now, as he looked at Edith, it seemed like the right thing to do. She needed something to hold on to, and this—this might help her.
“I want you to have this,” he said softly, holding it out to her.
Edith’s eyes widened. She didn’t move, just stared at it like she wasn’t sure if she should take it. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and gently took the book from him. Her fingers brushed the cracked leather, and Daniel could see the way her hands shook as she held it close.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she swallowed hard, her voice thick with emotion.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice catching. Her gaze fell to the Bible, as if afraid she didn’t deserve such a gift.
Daniel nodded, clearing his throat. “I figured it might. I know it’s not the same as the one you lost, but... it’s still something to hold onto.”
Edith looked up at him then, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and for a moment, she seemed like she wanted to say something more. She hesitated, biting her lip as she glanced down at the Bible again, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the cover.
Finally, after what felt like a long silence, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I can’t read,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“The Bible I had... it brought me comfort, but I never learned how to read it.” Her voice wavered, and she quickly looked away, clearly ashamed of the confession.
Daniel’s heart sank. All this time, she had carried that Bible, found solace in it, but had never been able to truly read the words. He had never imagined that she might not know how to read, but now it made sense—why she held onto that Bible so tightly, why she was so desperate to get it back.
He took a step closer, his voice low but steady. “That doesn’t matter,” he said gently. “You don’t have to read the words for them to mean something to you. It still brought you peace, didn’t it?”
Edith nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek as she held the Bible tighter against her chest. “It did,” she whispered. “Just having it near me… it made me feel safe, like I wasn’t so alone.”
Daniel watched her, feeling a pang of sympathy. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her, growing up with nothing but fear and isolation, clinging to a book she couldn’t even read, just to feel some semblance of comfort.
He took a breath and spoke softly. “I could read it to you, if you’d like.”
Edith’s eyes shot up to meet his, wide with surprise. “You’d do that?”
Daniel gave her a small, reassuring nod. “Of course. It’s the least I can do.”
For a long moment, Edith just stared at him. She wiped at her tears, trying to gather herself, and then gave him a small, hesitant smile. “I’d like that,” she whispered.
He nodded and motioned toward the small table. “How about we start now?”
Edith’s smile grew just a little, and Daniel felt like he had given her something real—something she could hold onto.
“Maybe there’s something better,” he said suddenly as an idea formed.
“What do you mean?” Edith asked.
“I can teach you,” he offered gently. Edith looked up at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.
“Teach me?” she asked, her voice small.
“To read,” Daniel clarified, meeting her gaze. “If you want, I can teach you the letters, the sounds. We can start with this.” He gestured toward the Bible, a small smile on his lips.
Edith hesitated, her fingers tracing the edges of the book. “I could read it myself?”
“Of course,” Daniel replied. “It’s the least I can do. It’s only fair you get to read what’s inside.”
A flicker of something crossed her face—hope, maybe? She nodded slowly, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the Bible to its first page.
Daniel leaned closer, pointing out the letters, starting with the basics. “This is an A,” he explained softly, his voice low and steady. “And it makes the sound ‘ah.’”
As the minutes ticked by, Edith’s hesitance began to fade.
She absorbed everything Daniel taught her like a sponge, her eyes lighting up each time she pronounced a letter correctly.
The joy that spread across her face made Daniel’s chest tighten in ways he wasn’t expecting.
She was so smart—so capable—and he couldn’t help but wonder how many people had underestimated her all these years.
“You’re picking this up fast,” he said, genuinely impressed.
Edith smiled shyly, her eyes glowing with pride. “It helps when someone’s willing to teach.”
For a moment, their eyes met, and Daniel felt something inside him stir.
She was beautiful—more than he’d let himself realize before.
But it wasn’t just her appearance. It was the way she carried herself, the strength she had even after all she’d been through.
His breath caught in his chest as he brushed a stray lock of hair back from her cheek.
Daniel froze, his hand still lingering against her skin.
The room felt smaller, the air between them charged with something neither of them had spoken aloud.
His eyes traced the curve of her face, her lips parted slightly as if she might say something, but no words came.
He felt the pull—a force drawing him closer.
She met his gaze, her eyes searching his, her lips parted just slightly. He could be mistaken, but she almost looked like she wanted him to—
No, he could not consider it.
For a fleeting moment, all he wanted was to close the distance, to feel the softness of her lips, to let her know how deeply she had affected him in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. But he couldn’t. Not now.
As the thought tightened its grip, his heart raced, and the familiar doubt surged up like a cold wave, pulling him back. He cleared his throat, his hand falling awkwardly to his side, breaking the moment.
“We’ll work on your reading again tomorrow,” he said, his voice sounding rougher than he intended.
He forced himself to step away, creating distance between them, though every instinct in his body screamed against it.
The tension in the room shifted, thick and unresolved, but he couldn’t risk letting her in.
Not when his scars—on his face, his heart—made him feel like he was less than what she deserved.
Edith blinked, the tender connection between them snapping like a thread. She nodded, but Daniel could see the flicker of confusion and disappointment clouding her gaze. The way she looked at him—it twisted something deep inside, a place he hadn’t let anyone reach in years.
He quickly looked away, swallowing hard as he tried to compose himself. His scars—they were always there, a constant reminder of what he had lost, what he had become. How could she see past them? How could anyone?
“Daniel?” Edith’s voice was soft, hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to dive into the mess of his past, the darkness he had been running from for so long. But the concern in her eyes made it impossible to keep the walls up. She cared, and that made everything harder.
Finally, he let out a breath, his fingers tracing the rough edge of the table as if grounding himself. “I hate them,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
“Hate what?” she asked gently, her brow furrowed in concern.
“My scars,” he confessed, his shame wrapping around the words. “I know what people see when they look at me. I’ve seen it all my life. They think... they think I’m some kind of monster.”
Edith’s face softened, her eyes brimming with compassion. “What happened?”
Daniel clenched his jaw, the memories pushing at the corners of his mind, memories he wasn’t ready to confront. He looked away, his gaze falling to the floor. “It’s not something I like to discuss,” he said, his voice thick with the weight of it all. “I wasn’t careful, and I paid the price.”
Edith didn’t press him, though he could feel her eyes on him, filled with understanding he didn’t think he deserved.
She nodded, and though she said nothing, the air between them shifted.
It was as if, for a moment, she was saying she understood—without needing all the details.
She wasn’t afraid of his scars, not the way everyone else had been.
The room fell into quiet again, the rain still pattering against the roof, a steady rhythm that filled the silence.
Daniel stood up, moving to the stove, his hands trembling slightly as he fed the fire.
It was a distraction, a way to escape the vulnerability that had just taken hold.
But his thoughts remained on Edith, on the warmth that seemed to bloom whenever she was near.
“You don’t have to hide from me, you know,” Edith’s voice cut through the quiet, soft but steady.
Daniel froze, his hand gripping the iron poker. He turned slowly, meeting her gaze, and for a moment, he considered it—letting her in, telling her everything. But the fear was still too raw, too close. He wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Edith nodded, sensing his hesitation. She didn’t push, didn’t demand answers, but the look in her eyes—one of quiet understanding—was enough to break him. She deserved more, deserved someone who wasn’t broken, someone who could give her what she needed.
The hurt in her eyes, though unspoken, lingered, cutting deeper than any wound.
He wasn’t that man. At least, not yet.