“Except it wasn't right. I just didn't see it at first. Or maybe I did and I ignored it.” The words came slower now, like I was excavating something I'd buried deep. “He had opinions about everything. What I wore, what I ate, how I decorated. Little comments, you know? Nothing big enough to fight about, but enough that I started second-guessing myself.”
My throat tightened. “I stopped trusting myself. Started asking permission for everything without realizing I was doing it. And then I'd feel pathetic for needing that validation, which made me need it even more.”
The stars blurred slightly. I blinked hard.
“I'd plan these elaborate dinners, hoping it would be enough. Buy tickets to things he mentioned liking. Wear clothes I thought he'd approve of. And he'd barely notice, or he'd make some comment about how I was trying too hard, and I'd just...” I exhaled slowly. “I'd shrink a little more. Beg a little harder for scraps of his attention.”
Cal's fingers found mine, lacing together.
“When he ended it, he said I wasn't the girl he fell in love with anymore.” My laugh was bitter. “And he was right. I wasn't. But he never seemed to notice that he was the one who'd made me disappear.”
Cal's hand tightened around mine.
“When Walt called about the farm...” I paused, surprised by the tightness in my chest. “It felt like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for so long. Like someone had pulled me to the surface and I could finallybreatheagain.”
The words kept coming, unstoppable now.
“I didn't even think about it. Just said yes. Quit my job, packed everything, drove here.” I traced the edge of Cal's thumb with mine. “Everyone thought I was running away. And I was. But it also felt like... runningtowardsomething? Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “It does.”
“I came here thinking I'd find myself again. Figure out who I was before Aaron. Before I started shrinking.” I swallowed hard. “But maybe that's not quite right either.”
Cal shifted beside me, waiting.
“Maybe I'm not trying to find the old Rosie. Maybe I'm just... building a new one? One that trusts herself to make decisions, even when they're hard. One who doesn't need permission to take up space.” I laughed softly. “Even if that space currently involves goats escaping their pen and chickens hiding their eggs.”
“And soap disasters.”
“And soap disasters.” I smiled against his shoulder. “But they'remydisasters. I'm choosing them. Making mistakes because I'm trying, not because I'm too scared to do anything without approval.”
The creek burbled softly in the darkness. Somewhere by the barn, one of the goats bleated.
“I'm still figuring it out,” I admitted. “Who I am now. What I actually want, not what someone else thinks I should want. But for the first time in years, I feel like I'm allowed to figure it out. Like there's space for me to be messy and imperfect and still be okay.”
Cal's silence stretched. I bit my lip.
“Is that weird?”
“Are you serious right now?” Cal pulled back slightly, and I could see his expression in the moonlight—mock outrage mixed with disbelief. “Did you really just spend five minutes telling me how you're done seeking validation, and then immediately ask me to validate your feelings?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I?—”
“Rosie.” He shook his head slowly, but his eyes were warm. “That's not how this works.”
“I know, I just—” I groaned and buried my face against his shoulder. “Old habits.”
“I’m impressed, you backslided so quickly.” He was grinning now, that rare full smile that transformed his whole face.
“Shut up.” I swatted his chest, laughing despite myself. “I'm a work in progress.”
“Clearly.” He caught my hand against his sternum, keeping it there. His heartbeat was steady under my palm. “But for the record? No. It's not weird.”
The teasing faded from his expression, replaced by something softer.
“You deserve the space to figure out exactly who you are.”
My chest tightened.
