Chapter 14 #2
Meg taped up the last box of personal items from her office, the sound of the packing-tape gun echoing in the empty clinic.
Two days since she’d walked out of Noah’s hospital room.
Two days of barely sleeping. Of her mother’s words circling in her head like a prayer she wasn’t sure she deserved to say. We’re all broken, baby. But when we let the Lord shine His light on our broken edges, that’s when we get a beautiful kaleidoscope of life.
Sarah appeared in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed. Puffy. “That’s the last of the paperwork. You are officially free for Pennsylvania.”
The word free landed wrong.
“Thank you.” Meg forced a smile. “You’ve been amazing through all of this.”
Sarah crossed the room and pulled Meg into a hug. Tight. Desperate. “It’s not too late, you know. To change your mind.”
Meg hugged her back, blinking against the burn of tears. “I know.”
Did she though?
Did she really know that? Or was she just going through the motions, following a path she’d set because turning back felt impossible?
They pulled apart, and Sarah grabbed her purse from the desk. “I’m heading out. Are you sure you don’t want help loading your car?”
“I’m sure. You go on home.” Meg walked her to the door. “Thank you, Sarah. For everything.”
“Take care of yourself, Dr. Meg.” Sarah squeezed her hand once more. “I’m going to miss you. We all are.”
Sarah walked out the door as the words settled over Meg like a weight.
We all are.
Not just Sarah, but the whole community she’d somehow become part of without realizing it. The rangers who stopped by with their various injuries. The tourists she’d patched up. Eden with her quiet wisdom and technical knowledge. Nimue with her infectious enthusiasm and quick smile.
Noah.
Her heart clenched at the thought of him.
Two days, and the ache hadn’t lessened at all. If anything, it had grown stronger—a constant throb beneath her ribs that reminded her with every breath what she was walking away from.
She’d picked up her phone so many times to call him, but the memory of his face shuttering just before she’d walked out stopped her every time. That moment when hope died in his eyes.
She’d broken his heart.
The heart that had just started to heal after Mary. After three years of grief and loss and learning to live again.
She’d broken it in her fear, and she wasn’t sure he could forgive her. Wasn’t sure she could forgive herself for being the one to do it.
Her mom’s words echoed back. Love isn’t about being perfect for someone. It’s about being broken together and choosing each other anyway. It’s about forgiveness—forgiving yourself, forgiving others, accepting grace when you fall short.
Meg focused back on the task. Boxes stacked against the wall. Bare shelves where her medical texts had been. The examination rooms stripped of the personal touches she’d added. The watercolor canyon print. The succulent in the clay pot. The Star Wars poster that made kids smile.
It looked like a place she’d never been.
And it all felt wrong.
The realization hit her squarely in the chest—she didn’t want to go.
Not just because of Sarah or the clinic itself, but because of them—everyone. The life she’d built without meaning to. Laughing over cards with Nimue and Eden on slow afternoons. Liam and Teague and their terrible jokes.
Noah.
Always Noah.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. Don’t push away everyone you could possibly love because you’re afraid to fail them.
But she had failed Noah. In that cave, when he needed her most, she’d frozen. Locked up. Become useless.
Yes, you did. But the Lord didn’t fail him, and he lived.
The Lord hadn’t left her alone out there. He’d sent Liam and Teague—arriving exactly when they were needed. He’d kept Noah alive despite her paralysis, despite her panic.
Maybe that was grace too. Maybe grace wasn’t just forgiveness for sin but help in the moment of need.
But then she’d failed again by running, pushing him away, breaking his heart.
Meg sank into her desk chair. She needed to forgive herself. Her mother was right about that.
But how did you forgive yourself for things that felt unforgivable?
You start by letting Noah forgive you. By letting the Lord forgive you. By accepting that being human means failing sometimes. More of her mom’s words coming back.
She didn’t even know where Noah was right now. Probably at his cabin, recovering. Probably trying to forget she existed.
But she did know where the Lord was.
Everywhere. Here in this empty office. In the canyon. In her pain. And he’d been in the cave.
Maybe it was time to stop running. From the pain. From the panic. From Him.
Maybe it was time to accept that being broken wasn’t the same as being unworthy of love.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Maybe it was time to stop letting the darkness overcome her. To let the light shine through all her fractured pieces and see what kind of beauty the Lord could create. What kind of kaleidoscope He could make from her brokenness.
Here I am, Lord—all my broken and ugly pieces. I don’t know why You haven’t removed the anxiety, but I trust You. I trust that You are big enough, powerful enough, to forgive me, to love me, to use me in my brokenness.
The prayer formed in her mind. Simple. Honest. Terrifying in its vulnerability.
Meg drew a deep breath.
One step forward.
And just like that, she knew she needed to talk to Noah. Even if she couldn’t fix this, she needed to see him. He deserved the truth. Maybe she could go see him before her flight, scheduled for tomorrow morning. Pennsylvania could wait one more day. Tell him…what?
That she was sorry?
That she loved him?
That she was scared but willing to try? That she wanted to stop running?
Hope flickered in her chest, fragile but real. She stood, reaching for her keys, but her hand brushed against something in her purse—paper, stiff.
A notecard she didn’t remember putting there.
Meg picked it up, her breath catching.
It was another note card from the canyon’s gift shop. That distinctive cream cardstock. The watercolor canyon design on the front.
Just like the others.
Her hands started to shake as she opened it. Bold green letters, the same handwriting that had haunted her for weeks.
THIS ISN’T OVER.
The room tilted. She grabbed the edge of the desk, her heart slamming against her ribs.
This couldn’t be happening.
Ryan was dead. She’d seen his body—blood spreading, chest still, eyes empty. The cave had collapsed. He couldn’t have survived.
But the card was real, solid in her trembling hands.
The clinic was empty, Sarah gone. Everyone else scattered across the canyon.
Meg’s breath came faster, shorter, the edges of her vision starting to blur.
No.
Not now.
She couldn’t have a panic attack now.
Deep breath in. One, two, three, four.
Out. One, two, three, four.
She needed to get out of here. Get to her car. Get to Noah, to Liam, to anyone who could help. She needed to show them the card—all the cards she’d been collecting, hiding, pretending didn’t matter.
Her phone.
She should call someone. 911. The ranger station. Liam.
But her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip her keys.
When had the note arrived? How had it gotten into her purse? Were they in this building? Watching her right now?
She had to get out of here.
She’d call from the car. Once she was moving. Once she was safe.
Meg forced herself to move out the front door and locked it behind her, the click of the deadbolt impossibly loud in the quiet evening. The parking lot stretched before her, her car waiting near the back.
Just fifty feet.
She could make it fifty feet.
Meg started across the pavement, her keys clutched in one hand, her other reaching for her phone. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the lot.
Everything looked normal.
Peaceful. Beautiful, even.
But her heart wouldn’t stop racing.
She was almost to her car—twenty feet, fifteen—when a figure stepped out from behind the dumpster.
Jeremy.
Meg froze, her keys slipping from her fingers and clattering to the pavement.
He moved into the fading light, and that’s when she saw it—the gun in his hand, black metal catching the dying sun. Pointed directly at her chest.
“Hello, Meg.” His voice was calm, almost friendly. Like they were meeting for coffee. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. Just walk this way and we’ll all be fine.”
Her mouth went dry. Heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not after Ryan.
“Jeremy, what—” Her voice came out strangled.
“Shh.” He took a step closer, the gun never wavering. “We’re going to take a little drive.”
He had to be insane to think she’d get in a car with him.
“I am not going anywhere with you.”
Voices filled the air then—familiar, beloved voices. Laughter carrying across the parking lot.
Eden and Nimue, walking toward them from the main road, deep in conversation. Eden’s blonde ponytail swinging. Nimue gesturing with her hands.
Meg’s heart lurched. She opened her mouth to scream, to warn them, to tell them to run.
But Jeremy moved faster. The gun shifted, pointing toward the approaching women. Toward Eden’s chest. Toward Nimue’s head.
“You will get in the car. And if you alert them,” he said, his voice still that terrible calm, “I won’t hesitate to shoot them. Both of them. And it will be your fault.”
The words slammed into her like a physical blow.
Your fault.
Again, her fault. Always her fault. People dying because of her choices.
Eden and Nimue waved and started walking her way. Still talking, still laughing, completely unaware of the danger. Of the gun pointed at them.
“Send them away.” Jeremy’s voice was like steel.
“They’ll want to say goodbye. I’m packed for Pennsylvania.” Meg’s entire body trembled.
“Make it brief. Or I will shoot them.” He stepped deeper into the shadows—melting into the darkness between the dumpster and the building.
Great.
Now she couldn’t even see where the gun was pointed. Couldn’t track the threat.