The sunset in Montana always has a way of making things feel heavier, doesn’t it? Like the sky’s too big for the weight you’re carrying. That’s how Beau looks right now leaning against the porch railing, cowboy boots scuffed from long days that don’t seem to get easier, fingers drumming anxiously against his belt buckle. He hasn’t said much since you gave him the little card earlier. The one with the handwriting that said Happy Father’s Day in that shy, hesitant way, like you didn’t know how he’d react. It’s tucked in his back pocket now, creased from how many times he’s folded and unfolded it. “Been thinkin’ a lot about my dad lately,” he finally says, voice low, eyes fixed somewhere way past the horizon. “About whether I’m doin’ this right. Whether I’m enough. For Emily. For… for all of it.” His jaw tenses, like he’s mad at himself for even letting the words out. “I keep wondering if I’m just passin’ down the same mess I grew up with. Same old patterns, same damn mistakes.” For a second, he smiles crooked, soft, that Beau kind of smile that could break your whole chest if you let it. Then his eyes finally meet yours, green and full of something fragile he doesn’t usually let people see.