Page 85 of What Remains

He hated the realization, because it complicated everything. He wasn't replacing his wife. He was beginning to care for someone entirely new. The distinction should have brought him comfort.

Instead, it somehow made everything hurt worse.

He looked down at the quilt, still carrying the faint scent of Josie's shampoo, and a sad smile crossed his face.

"You would've liked her." The words surprised even him. He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Molly..." He stared toward the ceiling again. "You would've loved how she bosses me around." Another smile, aching at the edges.

He could almost hear Molly teasing him back—sounds like your type—and his throat closed around the sound of a voice he would never actually hear again.

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

The room offered no answer. Only the low crackle of the fire downstairs, and the snow falling patiently beyond the glass.

Seth sat for several long minutes before drawing a slow breath. Loving Molly hadn't ended with her death; that part of him was immutable. But maybe—just maybe—the life they'd built together hadn't taught him to stop loving after loss.

Maybe she'd taught him how to keep loving.

He couldn't bring himself to believe that yet. The guilt was too fresh, the grief ran too deep. But for the first time since his world had fallen apart, he wondered if carrying Molly in his heart and making room for someone else weren't opposing truths after all. Maybe they could exist together, side by side, the way grief and gratitude sometimes did.

He didn't know, not yet.

But as he reached for his boots and prepared to face another day, one thing became painfully clear: When the time came to leave this ranch, walking away from Josie was going to tear him apart.

Chapter 20

New Day, Old Danger

The morning dawned cold and clear, fresh snow blanketing the ranch. The familiar landscape transformed into a sea of white, broken only by weathered fences, the red barn, and the thin ribbon of smoke curling from the farmhouse chimney. Its peacefulness seemed almost wrong—as though the world hadn't ended just beyond the property line.

Everyone moved with quiet purpose. Jay checked the Suburban one last time, ensuring every gas can was secure. Cara inventoried the backpacks, reading supplies from her list while Seth loaded ammunition and extra blankets into Beast. Inside the barn, horses stamped impatiently as Liz tossed fresh hay into their stalls, and the goats complained loudly the moment they spotted anyone carrying feed.

Layla giggled, "I think they yell more than ducks."

Liz laughed. "They absolutely do."

Josie smiled. Her daughter disappeared into the goat pen, a handful of grain clutched in her small fist. For a few precious minutes, Layla looked like any other little girl spending time on her grandparents' farm, her world no bigger than the fence line. Just childhood, exactly as it should be. Josie held onto the sight, trying to memorize the feeling of it.

Seth climbed into the bed of Beast, tightening the last cargo strap.

"You planning on bringing the whole ranch with us?" Jay called.

"You can never have too much rope."

Jay laughed. "I've heard Sawyer say the exact same thing."

"That's because Sawyer's smart."

"I'll let him know you finally admitted it."

Seth smirked. "I didn't say that."

The laughter faded as Liz walked toward him, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one else was within earshot. "You got a minute?"

Seth climbed down from the truck. "Sure."

They wandered several steps away, stopping beside the old fence overlooking the pasture. For a moment neither spoke, Liz watching the horses through the snow until her voice cut quietly through the cold.

"You care about her." It wasn't a question, but a truth.