He was a good man. There was no way around that, and somewhere in the middle of realizing it, I understood that I had probably already lost her.
I felt the tears before I fully registered them, one slipping free despite my effort to hold everything together, including the regret, the jealousy, and the growing awareness of what I had let slip away.
Chapter 17: Departures
The morning when July left for Bella, the cabin felt different in a way I couldn't immediately name. She moved through the kitchen with that familiar, careful efficiency, opening cupboards, checking supplies, stacking containers in the fridge, repeating instructions I already knew by heart. It wasn't that she thought I would forget. It was simply how she loved, by making sure nothing would fall apart once she was gone.
Bella needed her, so she would be there. I stayed near the counter, watching her without meaning to, following the small rhythm of her movements, the soft sounds of drawers closing, the quiet pauses between tasks. I found myself holding onto those details more than usual, as if I needed to keep them somewhere, to make sure they didn't fade too quickly once the house was empty.
She turned to me after a moment, her expression softening, "You'll be alright here?" she asked.
I nodded, so she stepped closer without saying anything, slow enough for me to follow and to stop her if I needed to.
I didn't.
Her gentle and familiar arms wrapped around me. I stayed stiff for a second. Then I let myself lean, just a little. Her hand moved slowly along my back, steadying.
"I'm proud of you," she murmured against my hair, her voice soft, unbroken. "Of the woman you're becoming. You're beautiful and strong. More than you think. You went through a lot and yet you keep going, so keep healing, keep growing, I love you so much my dear."
She went back to moving around the kitchen, finishing what she had started. I stayed where I was, still watching and still holding onto the quiet in a different way now.
When she finally picked up her bag and moved toward the door, I followed a step behind without deciding to. The air outside felt cooler, clearer, and for a second I stood there, unsure what to do with the space that had already begun to open between us.
She looked at me again before leaving, her gaze steady, familiar, the same way it had always been.
"You'll be okay, I promise." she said, not as a question this time.
I didn't answer, but I held her gaze a little longer than I usually would.
When she stepped away and walked toward the car, I stayed on the porch, watching until she was out of sight. The sound of the engine faded slowly, and when it was gone, the quiet that followed felt heavier than before, more present, like it had been waiting.
For a moment, I felt that familiar pressure rise again, the instinct to retreat into it, to let it close around me the way it used to. For a few minutes, anxiety pressed at the edges of my chest. What if something happened? What if someone needed me at work and my voice failed? What if being alone made everything louder?
I made coffee instead of spiraling. I reviewed patrol notes. I updated a maintenance request for a damaged sign on the north ridge. Structure steadied me and the forest had taught me that resilience was rarely dramatic.
*****
Later that afternoon, when the light had started to soften, there was a knock at the door. My body reacted before my mind did. My shoulders tightened, breath catching slightly as I stood still in the middle of the room, listening. No one came here unannounced. Not anymore.
The knock came again, patient this time. I moved slowly toward the door and when I reached the window beside the door, I forced myself to look.
Ellis stood on the porch.
For a moment, I didn't move at all.
Seeing him there felt like something old and unfinished pressing back into the present. My throat tightened instinctively, that familiar pressure rising, the one that used to silence everything before I even tried to speak.
He looked different up close. Not in a way I could easily name, but something in his posture had shifted. Less certain. More... careful.
He didn't knock again. He just waited. It took me longer than it should have to open the door. My hand rested on the handle for a few seconds before I turned it, pulling the door open just enough to face him.
"Hi," he said quietly.
I didn't answer. He nodded slightly. "I know this isn't... ideal," he started, his voice steady but softer than I remembered. "Showing up like this."
I stayed where I was, not stepping back, not inviting him in, but not closing the door either.
"I just—I needed to say this properly," he continued.
