“I’m okay, Mom,” I murmur, the words automatic.
“You know I only want what’s best for you.”
“I know.” It’s said out of training, not real belief. She wants what’s best for her, and the version of me she feels she owns. But she doesn’t know the real me. She doesn’t care what I want if it differs from the life she has mapped out in her head.
I gulp around the tightness in my throat, making an audible click of emotion.
“Just remember, Janey. One mistake, and everything is ruined.”
“I know, Mom.”
One mistake. One step out of line. Once risk taken.
That ship has sailed.
When I hang up, the silence in the room feels leaden. I set the phone down with a trembling hand and lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to breathe through the knot in my chest.
Mason’s big hand rubs slow circles on my back. “She doesn’t know yet?”
I shake my head. “No. But someone saw us at the care home.”
Brookes gently pulls me back against his chest, wrapping both arms around me. “We’re right here.”
I nod, but the anxiety lingers. My mother’s voice echoes in my head, demanding explanations I’m not ready to give.
My hand drifts to my belly again.
This baby isn’t just going to change my life. It’s going to blow my entire world apart.
And I still don’t know if I’m brave enough to let it.
Chapter 20
Mason
Janey cried out in her sleep again last night.
It wasn’t the first time. Around three in the morning, she jerked hard between us, a sharp, panicked sound tearing from her throat like she was being chased. I woke instantly, heart hammering, and pulled her tighter against my chest while Brookes stroked her back and murmured soft nonsense until she settled. She never fully woke up but whimpered twice more before falling back into uneasy sleep.
I hate seeing her that way. It confirms how much the weight of everything that’s happening is burdening her.
This morning, she’s already gone when I open my eyes. I nudge Brookes awake, and dress quickly.
We find her on the front porch swing, wrapped in one of our heavy wool blankets, cradling a steaming mug of coffee, staring at the horizon. The early sun is cresting the eastern hills, painting the pastures in soft orange and turningthe dew into scattered diamonds across the grass. Buck is sprawled at her feet, snoring like an old man, keeping her company.
She looks small out here and fragile in a way that twists fiercely in my chest.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
She nods, flashing me a muted smile, like it’s only there because it’s what’s expected.
“We’ll be back later,” Brookes says, worry creasing his forehead.
We head to the barn to move hay. The morning air is crisp and cool, carrying the sharp scent of alfalfa, leather, and horse sweat. Our boots crunch over the mix of straw and dirt as we work. I grab a pitchfork and start tossing flakes into the stalls, the familiar rhythm doing little to settle the storm in my head.
Brookes glances at me after a few minutes. “She’s not okay.”
I shake my head. “She was up before dawn again. Sitting on the swing, as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. It’s like she’s retreating.”
