Page 60 of The Story Between Us

A cream envelope, official-looking. Make-A-Wish Foundation in the corner. Stamped across the front in red: SECOND REQUEST.

Her stomach tightened. She didn’t know what it meant, exactly, but she knew it wasn’t good. Second requests were never good.

She tucked it into the stack with the rest and let herself in. She had a key now, no longer hidden under the ceramic frog, now on her key chain like she belonged here.

Whatever.

“Nate? I brought lunch.”

Nothing.

She checked the kitchen. Empty—dishes in the sink, coffeepot cold. The living room. Empty—dogs’ beds abandoned, fireplace dark. His office door stood open, chair pushed back from the desk, screen dark.

“Nate?”

She climbed the stairs, checked the hallway, the bathroom. Peered toward Emma’s room—door slightly ajar, the way she’d left it.

Empty. The whole house was empty.

Her pulse kicked up. Where was he? Had something happened? Had he given up, left, decided he couldn’t do this anymore?

She went back downstairs, moving faster now, and that’s when she saw it through the kitchen window.

The backyard. The stone retaining wall. The firepit with its blue camping chairs, rain darkening the canvas. The weathered bench where Emma used to sit.

And Nate, standing on the wet grass near the dock, throwing a ball for Huck and Finn.

Playing fetch.

In the rain.

While she’d been getting eviscerated by Richard. While she’d been counting words and defending his progress.

She was out the back door before she knew she was moving.

“What are you doing?”

He turned, brow furrowed as though he didn’t understand her question. The rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, and her pulse gave a little spurt at the sudden realization that he’d shaved. The dogs bounced around him, oblivious to the weather, to the tension, to anything but the joy of the ball.

“Playing with the dogs.”

“You need to be writing.” The words came out sharp, sharper than she meant. “You can’t keep doing this—you can’t just give up and come out here when there’s work to do⁠—”

“I finished another scene.”

She stopped. “What?”

“I finished the entire chapter.” He was calm. Almost amused. “Last night. Another three thousand words. That’s six thousand and change for the day.”

She stared at him.

“I was on a roll.” He threw the ball again, and Huck went tearing after it. “Stayed up late. Finished the whole wall sequence, Aldric’s deal with the barrier. It’s rough, but it’s done.”

Three thousand words. In one night.

And oh, she wanted to be thrilled. Finally, the breakthrough she’d been working toward, the proof that her methods were working⁠—

Except he’d done it without her. He hadn’t needed her pushing him. He’d just…done it. On his own.