Margaret studies me with unreadable eyes before speaking in her soft, lilting voice: “We’ve got at least an hour, Sydney. You’ll be fine. Have a good run.”
I don’t wait for more opinions, least of all my husband’s. In our bedroom, I strip off my sweater and jeans, trade them for thermal leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and a thick jacket. Layer by layer, I shed the version of me that has to smile, to smooth things over. Out there, I can just be. A runner. Alone with breath and motion. I pop my phone in my Koala Clip and grab my headlamp.
Outside, the cold slaps me awake. My watch says fifteen degrees.
Perfect.
The night is clear and crisp, stinging the inside of my nose with each inhale. My feet find their cadence quickly, crunching over the road as the world narrows with each step. The burn in my quadriceps as I push up the first incline. The way the dying light filters through pine boughs, casting long shadows across untouched snow.
At the ridge overlooking the valley, I pause, hands on my hips, chest heaving from the climb. Below, the village glows. Above, stars blink into the black velvet sky.
This moment, alone with the mountains and sky, feels more intimate than anything Mason and I have ever shared. I had convinced myself, for a long while, that what we had was enough, and maybe it was then. I remember standing in that bathroom, rationalizing away how it’s safer to settle. The family I wanted was within reach; all I had to do was grab hold of it. I didn’t need an earth-shattering connection; all that led to was hurt and heartbreak. I mean, look at my mother.
But something’s shifted.
Maybe it’s age. Or perhaps it’s the quiet, nagging realization that when it’s Mason and me in D.C., the silence stretches. Far too reminiscent of my childhood home.
Or maybe it’s realizing the word I always use to describe my life.
Fine.
The same word I used in childhood.
It’s fine that Mom and Dad left for a trip without saying goodbye. Sending me to boarding school in France? Fine. Missing my birthday, fine.
Fine is the lie I wrapped around my loneliness like armor.
My stride lengthens as I find my rhythm, that floating sensation when running becomes flying. The one thing I haven’t sacrificed or negotiated away.
The cabin comes into view. Candles line each window, and smoke curls from the chimney. The scene inside has probably changed little while I’ve been out. A picture of a life I thought I wanted.
I check my watch, just enough time to shower and reassemble my mask.
Tomorrow I’ll run farther. Push harder. Find that edge where there’s nothing but the burn in my lungs and the strength in my legs. Where I can outrun everything, including the gnawing awareness that maybefineisn’t what I want from life anymore.
***
Whendinnerwrapsup,my nephews bolt for their devices, thrilled to have free rein. Gary and Margaret settle on the sectional, queuing up a movie as they wait for Ivy and her boyfriend to arrive. Tom and Mason remain at the table, dissecting the earlier football game.
“Come on, let’s escape to the deck.” Jules grabs my hand.
The deck stretches the full length of the house, overlooking a forest dusted in snow. Mount Mansfield rises in the distance as moonlight reflects off crystallized treetops. The sky is unmoving, as if the world has gone still long enough to let something inside me unravel. No wind. No distractions. Only the quiet weight of something I haven’t wanted to name pressing behind my ribs.
“You okay?” Jules asks, curling up in a throw blanket. A cozy interrogator ready to dig in. “And spare me the ‘I’mfine’ routine. You’ve been off since you walked through the door yesterday.”
“It’s just...”
The words snag somewhere between my chest and throat. Jules feels closer than family, but I’ve never told her the whole truth about Mason and me.
She leans forward. Her usual spark, bold and unfiltered, is softer now as if she senses what’s sitting beneath the surface.
“Sometimes I… we’re so different, Jules.”
“You don’t need to hold back, Syd. Talk to me.”
“Do you really want to hear this? I don’t want to make things uncomfortable. He’s your brother, after all, and I’m only a sister by marriage.” I let out a hollow, bitter laugh.
“Fuck him. You’re my sister. Period. Talk.”
