Page 15 of Evan

The ceremony ends, the crowd dispersing in a flurry of chatter and laughter. But I barely notice, my mind still racing, my heart still aching with the weight of what I've done.

I wander through the streets, my feet carrying me aimlessly, my breath fogging in the cold night air. I pass the diner, the soon to be bookstore, and Hanks' department store. All the places that used to fill me with a sense of warmth, of belonging.

But now, they just feel empty. Meaningless. Like a life I no longer recognize, a future I'm no longer sure I want. Before long, I get in my truck and drive.

I end up at the farm, the familiar sight of the barn and the rows of trees doing little to calm the turmoil in my heart. I sit on the porch steps, my head in my hands, trying to make sense of the tangled mess of my thoughts.

"Evan? Is everything alright?"

I look up, startled by the gentle voice. Betty stands before me, her kind eyes filled with concern.

"Betty.” I furrow my brow. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Oh, I forgot my scarf yesterday. Thought I’d pick it up on my way home.”

I nod, my mind already back on Molly and the mess I made.

“Are you okay?” Betty asks with a kindness in her voice I don’t deserve.

“I... I messed up. With Molly. I said some things, stupid things, and now... now I don't know if I can fix it."

She sits down beside me, the warmth of her presence comforting in the cold night air. "Tell me what happened."

And so I do. I pour out the whole story, the doubts, the fears, the cruel words I threw at Molly in a moment of selfishness and insecurity. Betty listens, her face soft with understanding.

"Evan," she says gently, when I've finally run out of words. "I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. Whose opinion do you value most in this world?"

I blink, taken aback by the question. "I... I don't know. I guess... I've always cared about what people think of me. What they expect of me."

Betty nods, her eyes wise and knowing. "But whose opinion matters most, Evan? When you picture your life, your future, whose approval do you need to be happy?"

And suddenly, I know. With a certainty that takes my breath away. "My own," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. “And Molly’s.”

I've only spent a few days with Molly, but I know there's something between us. I feel it.Heropinion matters to me.

She smiles, squeezing my hand. "Then that's your answer, Evan. That's what you fight for. Not the expectations of others, not some distant dream of a different life. But the love and happiness you've found, right here in Benton Falls."

Molly's face flashes in my mind, the hurt and betrayal in her eyes as she walked away. The way her voice broke, the tears she tried so hard to hide.

I think of Chad, of the way his face lights up every time he sees me, the trust and affection shining in his eyes. The way he looks at me like I'm some kind of hero, like I have all the answers.

Which I don't—but I have one—and for now that's enough.

"Thank you, Betty." I smile at this woman who seems to show up right when I need her. Like a surrogate mother. Maybe my mom sent her. "Thanks for listening."

"You're welcome." Betty gets up. "I better get going." She straightens her jacket and tucks her hands in her pockets. "And I guess you better, too."

I stand up, my knees aching from the cold, my heart pounding with a new sense of purpose. "Yeah, I do."

As I walk towards my truck, I find myself with a renewed sense of determination. Betty's words echo in my mind, a reminder of what truly matters. I glance back at the farmhouse, at the life I've built here, and feel a sense of gratitude.

With a deep breath, I climb into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life beneath me. As I pull out onto the road, the farm disappearing in the rearview mirror; I feel a sense of clarity wash over me. I know what I have to do, what I need to say to make things right with Molly.

The miles slip away beneath my tires, the darkness of the night pressing in around me. But I barely notice; mind focused solely on the task at hand. I rehearse the words in my head, the apologies, the declarations of love and commitment. I pray it will be enough that Molly will see the sincerity in my eyes and the truth in my heart.

Before I know it, I'm turning onto her street, my heart hammering in my chest as I approach her house. But as I draw closer, a sense of unease prickles at the back of my neck. Something's not right.

I pull up to the curb, my eyes widening in shock at the scene before me. The front door hangs open, the wood splintered and broken. The windows are dark, jagged shards of glass littering the front lawn.

---