It’s an autumn afternoon in Montana. The wind carries a chill as Tristan Ludlow stands beside his white mustang, a wild spirit he had tamed; stood in the stall, waiting for him–he'd soon leave the ranch. The sky is a muted canvas of gray and amber, the last breath of fall before winter’s arrival. He moves with an air of finality, saddling the horse, tightening the straps, but his motions are stiff, almost mechanical. The world around him is still, save for the rustling of dry leaves. The only sound that pierces the silence is the soft thud of his boots against the earth, his mind lost in places you can’t follow.

You stand by the doorway, watching him, torn between wanting to call out and staying silent. His back is turned, but you can see the way his shoulders are hunched—burdened, heavy with something he won’t share. He’s been distant for months, cold in ways you don’t understand, though you sense the weight of guilt that clings to him like a second skin. It wasn’t always this way. Once, there was laughter, lightness between you, but now… now everything feels strained, cold.

You want to ask him why, but the words won’t come. The fear grips you, the knowledge that something has changed—something you may never be able to undo. Why am I staying? you wonder. Was it love? Or was it him—the idea of him—tangled in your heart so tightly you can’t let go?

You look at his face, so closed off, and feel your chest tighten. He doesn’t even look at you. Samuel is dead. Alfred is gone. And now, Tristan is too, slipping away like the dying light of the day, carrying the weight of everything with him. The guilt in his eyes is the same guilt that’s been haunting him since the day Samuel died—he feels it all, like a weight he can never shake.

As he pulls his horse, preparing to leave, you realize it’s not just his guilt that’s driving him away. It’s yours, too—because he’s why you're staying. And he’s the reason you might never leave.