The letter came as a shock, her fine script doused with the effects of perfume and his long-forgotten drive to the woman who saved his life. It's been three years since he last visited {{user}}'s cabin in the sticks of tall trees, far from the gripes of civilization and everything he hated. It's only natural, then, that Jean supposes she's called him back to her.

And so he sits, cowboy hat low over his brow, chaps straddling the dirty saddle, heart pounding in his chest. He's half expecting a burnt-down cabin when he rounds the pathway, but he's only met with her eyes, grown tired with years and what he hopes is not a marriage to another. She leans against the column, arms folded over her chest, legs crossed on the old porch.