Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The mountain resort looked nothing like the serene retreat promised in the glossy brochure. The parking lot was a muddy mess of tire ruts and pine needles, and the main lodge was a sprawling A-frame with too many cheerful windows, as if judging her life choices.
Harper killed the engine of her SUV and let her forehead drop against the steering wheel. Sweat pooled between her shoulder blades despite the mountain chill.
“One week,” she muttered. “Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours.”
I can survive seven days. I’ve survived worse.
She stepped out of the car, checked in at the lodge, then made her way toward Cabin Seven. Oh, the irony.
Once inside, Everett closed the cabin door behind her. The air changed its density the moment the door was shut.
He takes up too much oxygen.
The cabin smelled faintly of pine cleaner and something sterile, temporary, impersonal. Neutral ground, my Aunt Fanny.
Everett leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets.
“I thought you’d want to be facing the trees,” he said.
She glanced toward the window.
He had given her the room with the better view.
Of course he did.
“Look—I’m not contesting the divorce to hurt you,” Everett continued. “I’m contesting it because… I’m not ready to let go.”
The words landed heavily in the small space.
You’re not ready? As if my life halted three years ago, waiting for your permission.
The selfishness of the statement nearly knocked the wind out of her.
As if her life were a movie he had paused, and he expected to just pick up the remote and hit play whenever he finished his intermission.
He didn’t seem to grasp that while he was off finding himself, or hiding, or whatever he’d been doing in that silence, she had been systematically filing away the grief until there was nothing left but cold, hard logistics.
“Congratulations,” she said coolly. “You managed the absolute bare minimum.” Her voice sounded crueler than she intended. Good. Let it.
He clasped and unclasped his hands in that familiar rhythm.
“I’m not ready to let go,” he repeated, softer.
She swallowed.
Perfect timing. Just when she had found her footing. “I don’t have the bandwidth for this,” she said. “I came here because a judge ordered me to.”
Everett nodded once. “I know.”
“I’m going for a walk.” She needed to get out of this prison and burn off her anxiety.
She reached for the doorknob. The quiet tension shattered as a knock pounded on the cabin door. A cheerful voice called out: “Cabin Seven! Time for orientation!”
She looked up. “You have a sick sense of humor.” Harper squeezed her hands into fists, rolled her eyes, and swore under her breath, while Everett moved past her to open the door.
She took two deep breaths before she followed. Unfortunately, he had waited for her, then walked two steps behind her as they joined the other couples filing into the lodge’s main room. A counselor gestured toward a loveseat meant for two.
Harper chose the single chair instead.
Everett lowered himself onto the loveseat, alone.
A silver-haired woman clapped her hands.
“Welcome everyone! I’m Marnie, and this is my husband of forty-two years, Cal.” A tall man with a white beard and twinkling eyes waved. “We’ll be your lead facilitators this week.”
Forty-two years. Adorable. And nauseating.
Marnie gestured to the circle. “We have a full but intimate group—six couples total. You’ll get to know each other well during paired exercises, group sessions, and shared meals. We hope you leave this retreat stronger than you came in.”
Forced proximity. Not a chance!
Introductions began around the circle. A young couple went first. Early twenties, practically holding hands with both arms. The woman’s eyes are red from crying.
The man looked exhausted but devoted. The young couple explained their issue: eight months married and already battling a mother-in-law with a spare key.
Amateurs. Change the locks. Twenty bucks. Problem solved.
A long-married pair followed—thirty-eight years and still holding hands, looking to bring back the spark.
Then it was their turn.
Everett spoke first. “I’m Everett Gleason. This is my wife, Harper. We’ve been married for twenty-five years—”
The word wife hit her squarely in the chest.
You forfeited that title.
“We’ve been separated for three,” she added crisply. “We’re here because a judge ordered this.”
Marnie waited, expectant. “And what do you hope to gain this week?”
“Closure,” Harper said instantly. Permission to let go completely. So I can pack you away and stop checking my phone for messages that never come.
“A chance to… talk,” Everett said at the same time.
Their eyes met.
“Of course, you want to talk now.”
Marnie smiled as if she’d just been handed premium entertainment. “Wonderful. Opposing goals. Very common. Very workable.”
Cal stepped forward. “Let’s begin with a simple attunement exercise. Turn to your partner. Look into their eyes. Notice what arises.”
“Do we have to?” Harper asked.
“Yes,” Cal replied cheerfully.
Everett turned toward her patiently.
Harper faced him with far less enthusiasm.
Their eyes met.
The room sharpened.
His gaze was steady. Familiar.
Don’t you dare look at me like that.
“Now breathe together,” Marnie instructed. “Match your partner’s pace.”
Everett’s breath moved slow and even.
Harper tried to match it.
After a moment, she exhaled sharply. “This is ridiculous.”
“Discomfort is the doorway to intimacy,” Marnie said.
“Discomfort is the doorway to ulcers,” Harper muttered.
Everett’s lips twitched. “You’re doing fine.”
She glared. “Stop talking to me like you know me.”
He held her gaze. “I did. I’d like to learn you again.”
You don’t get a refresher course.
“What do you think you and your partner do well?” Marnie asked.
Ron and Martha absolutely stole the show with heart-melting humor.
The others say the usual platitudes.
Then it’s their turn.
She’d rather have a root canal. The saccharine display turned her stomach because it highlighted what she and Everett had forfeited.
She didn’t have a cute anecdote to offer the group. She had a court date.
“We worked well as a team. Always did,” Everett said. Quiet, simple, devastating.
The word ‘worked’ tightened something inside her.
She lifted her chin.
“We… used to communicate well.”
Everett tilted his head. “Did we?”
“We did,” she shot back, “until I told you I was drowning and you asked what was for dinner.”
Marnie interjected, voice smooth as honey. “Excellent. Authenticity is welcome.” Of course it is. It’s not your marriage on the table.
Everett leaned back, eyes on her. “Harper, if you want honesty—”
“I don’t,” she cut in. “I want the schedule so I can plan how to tolerate this week. I’ve learned to be self-sufficient.”
Marnie clapped her hands. “Perfect timing! Tomorrow morning: Communication Foundations. Afternoon: Trust and Touch. Followed by: Couples as Teammates. All mandatory.”
Harper recoiled internally.
Trust and touch? Absolutely not.
Cal grinned as he eyed them. “You two are going to be very interesting.”
Harper forced a brittle smile. “We aim to disappoint.”
The group dispersed. As they stood, her breath unconsciously matched his.
She stiffened.
Stop it. Muscle memory isn’t loyalty.
Hope was expensive. Dangerous.
And she had stopped budgeting for it.