She looked scared.
And I know how scared looks, because I’ve lived inside it.
“I don’t know how to help her,” I say quietly.
Mom reaches for my hand again, this time holding it. Her grip is warm, firm.
“You don’t fix her,” she says. “You don’t rescue her like she’s a stray dog.” Her mouth twists. “Though Lord knows you McCoys love dragging strays home.”
I manage a weak huff of laughter, mostly air.
Mom squeezes my hand. “You be steady. You be honest. You set boundaries that protect Lila and still leave room for Faith to choose you back.”
“What if she can’t?”
Mom’s eyes soften. “Then you grieve it. You survive it. And you don’t let fear keep you from living in the meantime.”
I stare at her, emotion thick in my chest.
“Your daddy loved hard,” she says. “He loved me hard, and he loved you boys hard, and it scared the hell out of him sometimes because love is the one thing you can’t control.”
Her eyes glisten, and she clears her throat.
“He still did it,” she says. “Even when it hurt. Even when the ranch was hanging by a thread, and we didn’t know if we’d make it. He still chose love because it was the only thing worth the risk.”
I swallow hard.
Mom’s grip tightens. “Belinda’s death didn’t happen because you loved her,” she says, fierce now. “Don’t you put that on yourself. Loving her didn’t kill her, Dallas. And shutting your heart down won’t bring her back.”
The words slam into me.
I blink fast, jaw clenched, because my eyes burn and I refuse to cry at my own kitchen table.
Mom reaches up, cups my cheek briefly, the way she did when I was little.
“You’ve been carrying that guilt like it’s a saddle you can’t take off,” she murmurs. “It’s time to set it down.”
My voice comes out low and shaky. “I miss her.”
“I know,” Mom whispers. “And you always will. That doesn’t mean you don’t get to be happy again.”
I stare at the table, breathing through the ache.
Then, quieter, I ask the question that’s been chewing me alive since Faith showed up in my ditch.
“What if loving Faith hurts Lila?”
Mom doesn’t flinch. She’s been waiting for me to say it.
“Then you love Faith the right way,” she says. “Slow. Clear. With your daughter’s heart in mind. You don’t promise Lila the moon before you know Faith can stay. You don’t make Faith responsible for Lila’s happiness. And you don’t make Lila responsible for keeping Faith.”
Her gaze pins me. “But you also don’t shut the door just because you’re scared something might go wrong.”
I swallow, throat tight. “She’s already attached.”
Mom nods. “Kids attach. That’s what they do. And it’s beautiful.” Her voice softens. “What matters is that the adults show up and handle it with care.”
Care.
