I glance over at her, at the certainty in her expression, the same certainty she had when she walked right up to him. Something in my chest tightens in a way that feels a lot like pressure building where I don’t want it to.
“He’s not just yours,” I say gently, choosing my words with care. “He’s his own person. We’re still figuring things out.”
She considers that for a second, then shrugs in a way that tells me she’s already decided her version makes more sense. “Okay,” she says, which isn’t agreement so much as acknowledgment. She then leans back in her seat like the conversation is settled on her end.
I start the car and pull out of the lot, the quiet that follows feeling heavier than it should. She’s said more in five minutes than I’ve been able to sort through in a day.
“He said he wasn’t going anywhere,” she adds after a minute, her voice softer now, like she’s sharing something important.
My grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel, and I keep my eyes on the road. “People say a lot of things,” I reply, not harsh, just honest. I need that line to stay clear for both of us.
“He didn’t sound like that,” she says, just as quiet, but with that same certainty that makes it hard to dismiss.
I let out a slow breath. Arguing with her isn’t the point, and shutting her down won’t change what she felt standing there with him.
“Maybe,” I allow it. It seems the only answer that doesn’t box us into something we can’t take back.
She seems satisfied with that, turning her attention to the window as the town passes by, and for a few minutes the car settles into a comfortable kind of quiet.
But my mind doesn’t follow it.
Every word she just said, every small detail she chose to hold onto, keeps circling back to the same place.
Not what he said.
Not what I think.
But what she believes.
And that’s the part that matters most.
If she’s already attached…
Then I don’t get the luxury of being wrong about him.
By the time we get home, I’ve already decided what I need to do, even if I don’t like it.
Distance.
Not shutting him out completely, not yet. That wouldn’t be fair to Hadley and it wouldn’t be fair to the situation I started, but space, boundaries, something that keeps this from moving faster than I can keep up with.
“Go wash up, honey,” I tell her as we step inside, keeping my tone light, steady, like everything is exactly as it should be. “Dinner in a bit.”
She nods, already halfway to the bathroom before I finish the sentence. Her mind clearly still somewhere between horses and cookies and the man she’s already decided belongs to her.
I set my keys down and lean against the counter for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle in around me again, but it doesn’t feel the same as it did before. And now there’s something else threaded through it, something I can’t quite ignore.
Him.
The way he looked at her.
The way he said he wasn’t going anywhere.
My mom steps into the kitchen behind. I jump slightly, "you scared me."
I noticed, she says. "You seem deep in thought."
I push away from the counter and move toward the sink, rinsing my hands even though they don’t need it, just to have something to do, something that feels normal. If I stand still too long, I’m going to start questioning decisions I can’t afford to second-guess now.
