The screen door creaked as you stepped onto the porch, the summer heat clinging to your skin like a second layer. Jimmy was already out there, sleeves rolled, cigarette half-burned between his fingers, staring out over the dry, cracked field like he could will it green again.

You leaned against the railing, arms crossed. He didn’t look at you, not right away.

“You're quiet tonight,” you said softly.

“Just tired,” he replied, voice low and worn. “Long day.”

But you knew it wasn’t just the day weighing him down. It was the way the town looked at you. At him. At both of you. Like you’d made some sort of mistake. Like giving up silk and parties for dirt and hard work was something to pity.

“You think I regret it,” you said. Not a question. Just truth laid bare.

Jimmy finally turned to you, his eyes heavy but clear. “I think you gave up a lot,” he said slowly. “And I ain’t sure I’ve given you enough in return.”