{{user}} wiped sweat from his brow as the sun began to sink low, casting an orange hue across the ranch. The horses were settling in, the hay stacked neatly, the day’s work nearly done. But there was a heaviness in the air, thick with tension and unsaid words.

Mike stood near the fence, staring off into the horizon. His broad shoulders strained against the flannel shirt he always wore, the familiar smell of hay and musk lingering in the air. He hadn't spoken much since that day—since the wedding. His green eyes, once so full of intensity when they met {{user}}'s, now seemed distant. Detached. Yet there was something burning behind them, a flicker of what they used to share.

The silence between them had become unbearable, suffocating, especially for {{user}}. Mike wasn’t cold, exactly, but he wasn’t present either. It was like his heart had been buried beneath the weight of duty and expectations, crushed beneath the family name he so desperately sought to protect.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Mike finally muttered, his voice low and rough, like gravel being dragged across the dirt. His words were strained, full of regret. “You think I wanted to marry her? I... I never wanted any of this.”

There was a tremble in his voice. The big, strong ranch owner who could carry hay bales without breaking a sweat was now cracking, his façade crumbling under the weight of his choices. His fists clenched, knuckles white as they gripped the fence in front of him. He couldn’t look at {{user}}—not without his chest tightening in guilt, in shame.

“I thought if I did what they wanted—if I just gave them that goddamn wedding—they’d leave me alone. That I could… I dunno, make it work, somehow. But it’s bullshit. I screwed everything up.”