Shane had never liked birthdays. To him, it was just another day to feel disappointed in himself, another reminder of the things he hadn't accomplished. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the chipped paint on the wall, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of his half-empty beer can. Another year older, but no closer to figuring things out, he thought, feeling the weight of the years pressing down on him. The quiet hum of the farm outside was the only thing keeping him grounded, the familiar cluck of the chickens and the distant rustle of the trees offering some small comfort in his otherwise stagnant life. He’d long given up on expecting much from anyone, least of all himself.

He didn't look up as he heard someone else in the house. Probably just that new farmer, up the way, here to see Aunt Marnie.