Page 29 of Shattered Promise

The last time I was here, I wasn’t alone.

The thought slices through me, sharp and uninvited. I shove it aside. No room for grief tonight.

Inside, it smells like dust and lavender and time. I flip on two lights—one in the kitchen, one in the living room—and the shadows retreat just enough to let the quiet settle in.

I don’t bother unpacking. Just drop my bags by the kitchen and stand in the middle of the room, letting the stillness soak into my skin. This place used to feel like a secret. A soft landing. Now it feels like the inside of a story I’m not sure I belong to anymore.

I sink onto the couch and press the heels of my hands to my eyes and immediately wince. Shit. I don’t know how, but I forgot about the reason I’m here.

I came here to disappear. To take a breath without anyone watching me.

But now, sitting in this silence, all I feel is seen.

Seen in all the ways I’ve spent my life trying to avoid.

11

MASON

The trailbehind the house runs long and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles in your bones if you let it. Technically, I think this stretch of land belongs to the county—some old nature preserve or maybe just forgotten acreage nobody’s bothered to develop.

I shift Theo’s weight in the pack on my back, one hand steady on the strap across my chest. He’s starting to drift, head slumped against my shoulder, breath warm through the mesh panel near my neck. These walks have become my last-ditch move on days he decides naps are a personal insult.

Fresh air and forward motion. Just me and my boy and the path ahead.

The creek chatters somewhere up ahead, soft and steady, like our personal sound machine. Birds trill above and filtered sunlight dances through the trees. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. The kind that reminds me I’m still standing.

This might be what it’s all about.The thought keeps sneaking in lately. Quiet and stubborn, hard to ignore once it shows up.

Not the blog posts. Not the sleep schedules. Not the shit those smug parenting videos promise you’ll master in three easy steps. Just this—the weight of him curled against me, his fingers tucked tight in my collar, like he knows I’ve got him.

My boots kick a scatter of pebbles as we round the bend. There’s a break in the trees where the trail curves close to the creek, and that’s when I see it.

A figure crouched low near the bank. Hood up, legs tucked in, and shoulders hunched.

In all the months I’ve lived here, I’ve never run into anyone on this stretch. Then again, I only started walking this far recently—ever since I gave in and bought the baby-wearing pack one of those blogs swore by. It takes me ten minutes to get us strapped in, but if it means he’ll nap without a fight, I’ll take it.

Maybe someone’s hiking. Or lost. Shit, maybe someone’s hurt. I remember the realtor saying most of the houses out here sit on a few acres apiece—modest homes spaced out enough you might never see who lives next door. Still, it’s rare to see someone out this way.

But then the person shifts, tosses the hood off, and flips long blonde hair over one shoulder. My pace picks up, like my legs know something I don't. The person lifts their face, tilting it enough for the sun to highlight the features I've discreetly studied for years. My breath stalls inside my lungs like I just took a punch to the gut.

“Abby?” Her name scrapes out, raw and quiet, like my ribs had to give it up just to make space to breathe again.

She startles at the sound, her whole body jerking as she whips around to face me. It’s quick and defensive, like she wasn’t just surprised butafraid.

Fuck me. I knew it was her. God, she’s still gorgeous. Even now, with her hoodie bunched around her neck and tension riding her shoulders like armor. It’s been over a month since Isaw her in person. I’ve seen her face more times than I can count—on screens, in memory—but nothing compares to seeing her now. Real and close. But still not close enough.

My gaze moves over her as my long strides carry me toward her, caught between memory and instinct. Soaking her in before it stutters, snags on the bruising along the curve of her cheekbone. It blooms from underneath her sunglasses, dark and high across her face. Purple and black, like it's fresh.

“What the fuck?” The words slip out before I can stop them. Shock freezes me in its tight fist, momentarily gluing my boots to the dirt.

My blood turns thick and heavy. Every beat in my chest slows down until the sound of it fills my ears. And then she moves—jerking her hood up, fingers fumbling with the fabric like she’s trying to disappear.

That’s what breaks it.

A jolt of heat shoots down my spine, snapping through the fog. My body shifts before I even register the choice.

“Abby.” I say it again, softer this time, arm lifting instinctively—like I could catch her if she ran, like I could stop whatever this is from slipping through my fingers.

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