The departure of Ethan’s Jeep left a silence so absolute it felt physical, a ringing void that made the cabin feel less like a home and more like a discarded shell. Lena didn’t stay inside. She couldn't. The walls held too many echoes of the woman she was supposed to be—the woman who liked Brooklyn terraces and planned June weddings.
She walked toward the town square, her movements fluid and purposeful, driven by a restless energy that made the air feel electric against her skin. She needed to be among people, yet as she reached the center of Blackthorn Ridge, she realized that "people" was a generous term.
The square was unusually busy. Groups of women stood near the post office and the small grocery store, their conversations hushed as Lena approached. These weren't the polite, distant
