Then Marcel exhales, a sound heavy with restraint. His hand slips from my waist, though not before his thumb traces one last circle over the fabric of my dress. “We should head back,” he says softly, his voice husky, almost reluctant. “Before someone starts to wonder where you’ve gone.”
The words feel like the break of a spell. My heart aches at the distance as he steps back, adjusting his hat with a trembling hand, his eyes lingering on me as though letting go is the hardest thing he’s ever done.
“Is it okay to make the same wish twice?”
I study him. “I think it’s my turn to make a wish, don’t you think, Cowboy?”
He smiles, “You’re right. Tell me your wish, Clara.”
I step back into his space, looking up to meet his eyes. “I want to see you again.”
He exhales, “Just tell me when and I’ll be there, Firefly.”
The word catches in the air between us. My chest tightens, a flush rising up my neck before I can stop it. No one’s ever given me an affectionate name before, and somehow it feelsright.
I nod, though my body resists. My lips are still tingling, my chest still full of him.
We walk back to the horses in silence, the air between us heavy with all that’s just passed. When he helps me into the saddle, his touch is sure and steady, as though we’ve crossed some fragile threshold.
The ride back is quiet, the sun dipping lower, brushing the fields in a wash of copper light. The steady rhythm of hoovescarries us side by side, but the space between us hums with all the words we didn’t dare speak.
By the time the ranch comes into view, my throat is tight, my heart is a storm and I know nothing will ever be the same again.
Unknowing
Marcel 1986
The light outside is fading,the edges of the sky painted with streaks of violet and fire. Grace sets her mug down, her hand trembling just slightly. She’s been quiet for the past few minutes, her gaze lingering on the old compass like she can’t tell if it’s a trick of the light or something sacred.
Finally, she rises, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I should head back to the hotel before it gets too late.” She glances between Eli and Isaac, then—hesitantly—toward the space Clara and I occupy. “Would it…would it be alright if I came back tomorrow?”
Eli’s weathered face softens. “Of course, Grace. Devil’s Ridge always has room for family.”
Her eyes brighten at that word—family.She thanks him quietly and reaches for her bag, but instead of leaving right away, she pauses. Carefully, she pulls out the folded envelope, the one she’d brought with her alongside the worn leather diary.
“This letter,” she says, looking toward where we linger, though she can’t truly see us. “It feels like it should stay here—with his letters.” Her voice trembles.
She lays the envelope gently atop the stack of my letters. For a moment, her fingers linger there, brushing the faded paper likeshe’s saying goodbye. Then she straightens, blinking fast, and turns toward the door.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, more to the room than anyone in it. Isaac steps to her side, and together they disappear through the front door, their footsteps fading into the twilight.
The kitchen is quiet again—just Eli rinsing a cup at the sink, giving us space without making it obvious.
Clara sits at the far end of the table, her posture still graceful even beneath the weight of everything she’s just spilled open. Her fingers trace the edge of the letter in her lap, but her eyes are on me.
I sit next to her, my voice jagged in my throat, “Clara.”
Her name tastes like a memory, like the ache of everything I never stopped wanting. She looks at me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper, voice breaking on the edges. “About our child. About what they kept from you. I thought you chose him. Thought you’d left me behind without a second thought.”
Her chin trembles, tears shining in the dim light. “And I thought you would’ve stopped waiting for me,” she says softly. “That you had moved on, built a life. It was easier to believe that than to wonder if you were here hurting too.”
I shake my head fiercely. “I never moved on, Clara. It was always you.”
Her breath shudders, and for a heartbeat we just sit there. Two people finally seeing the truth that should’ve come years ago.
“I’m so sorry that I never told you about Sebastian, your son.”
