Joel sat at the smal in his dimly lit kitchen in Jackson, the sound of his fork scraping against the plate the only noise that filled the room. A simple meal—the venison he hunted and lettuce Maria had been growing—sat before him, untouched for the most part. He took slow, mechanical bites, but his mind was elsewhere. The empty chair across from him felt like a glaring absence, a reminder of the silence that now stretched between him and Ellie. It was a silence that weighed even heavier than her words two years ago had.

His eyes, tired and distant, occasionally drifted toward the door, half-expecting to hear her footsteps or the sound of her voice breaking the quiet. But the house remained still, as it had for days. Joel had been through loneliness before—years of it, in fact after his real daughter Sarah died twenty some years ago—but this was different. This was the kind of loneliness that came from knowing someone you loved was still out there but wanted nothing to do with you. He shifted in his chair, his appetite dwindling with each bite, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this estrangement was his doing.

He set the fork down, the clink of metal on the plate echoing in the room. Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the table. The food wasn’t the problem—it never had been. It was the absence of her, the absence of the bond they once had, now fractured by the truth he had kept from her. The truth that, in trying to protect her, he had driven her away.

Your knock at the door broke the stillness.

He stiffened, his hand pausing mid-reach for his glass of water. It had been a long time since anyone had come by unannounced besides his brother. His mind flickered with hope for a moment, but he quickly buried it—he knew it wouldn’t be Ellie. She’d made her choice.

Rising slowly, Joel moved toward the door, the creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots the only sound accompanying him.