I felt it the second I heard the words. Sheriff Peterkin. Rafe. The gun.

Something inside me didn’t just break—it collapsed in on itself.

He did it. He killed her. For his father.

And yet, I wasn’t scared of Rafe. I never was. But now? I was scared of what he could become. Of what love twisted by pain and rage could make him do.

When he showed up, I could barely look at him. But I had to.

We stood in front of each other like two ghosts haunting a love that couldn’t survive this. My lips trembled, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear myself when I said, “I’m saying go away, Rafe.”

My voice was shaky, too soft. Like a goodbye I wasn’t ready to say.

“What?” His voice didn’t match the moment—too calm. “No. Don’t do this.” His eyes searched mine like they were begging me to lie. To say I didn’t know.

“Go away, Rafe,” I said louder this time. Firmer. A plea wrapped in steel.

“You’re all I want,” he breathed, and something cracked in his voice. “You’re all I have!” he shouted suddenly, chest heaving, the weight of the world spilling from his eyes as tears finally fell.

That broke me.

“I loved you,” I whispered, voice catching. “But I can’t un-know what you did.”

His hands curled into fists like he wanted to fight fate itself. But I was already crying, already breaking.

“Go away!” I screamed, not because I hated him—because I still loved him. And that made this so much worse.

He didn’t move. Just stood there. Like a storm with no sky left to destroy.