I work methodically, efficiently, refusing to linger on memories. The wildlife sketches go into a separate folder. His jacket, returned to the lodge office with a brief note of thanks. Each action another brick in the wall between then and now.
Until I find it.
The tiny purple sweater, perfectly sized for Rascal, made with such care by hands that just hours ago pushed me away. I sink to the floor, the soft yarn clutched against my chest as the dam finally breaks. Rascal whines softly, pressing his warm body against my side as I sob.
"It was real," I whisper to no one. "I know it was real."
But real isn't always enough.
Morning comes too quickly and not quickly enough. Evie meets me at the lodge as I check out, her eyes soft with understanding I can't bear to acknowledge.
"You don't have to leave, dear," she says gently.
"I do." I hand her the cabin key, our fingers briefly touching. "Thank you for everything. The lodge is magical."
"The lodge will be here." The weight of her words encompasses more than timber and stone. "Whenever you're ready to return."
I nod, not trusting my voice. She presses a small package into my hands.
"For the journey," she says. Blueberry muffins, still warm.
Packing the car feels strange after my time here. Rascal settles reluctantly in his carrier, sensing the wrongness of our abrupt departure. I make one final sweep of the cabin, then load the last of my bags.
As I close the trunk, something pulls my gaze toward the eastern trail. The path that leads to the wildlife blind. To his gift that now feels like a monument to what might have been.
That's when I see him.
Rowan stands at the edge of the trees, partially hidden like the forest creature I once thought him to be. Our eyes lock across the distance. For one breathless moment, I think he might come to me. That he might fight for what we found in these mountains.
He doesn't move.
I slide into the driver's seat, hands shaking on the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, his figure grows smaller as I drive away. The mountains that felt like home just days ago now loom in my mirrors like monuments to another life I almost had. Ahead lies New York, success, everything I worked for before I knew what else I might want.
The book will be published. Children will enjoy the adventures of forest friends and a brave little rabbit who learns to read trail markers. It will be everything I dreamed of.
Chapter Twelve
Rowan
The wildlife blind stands empty, abandoned like the foolish hopes I built along with it. Three days since Daisy left, and I've avoided this place like a wound too fresh to touch. Now I stand in the doorway, staring at the space where she once sat, sketching forest creatures and weaving magic from ordinary things.
A sheet of paper flutters in the light breeze—one of her drawings, forgotten. A groundhog wearing a tiny vest. Gordon the Groundhog Mayor. I carefully pick it up, my fingers tracing the lines she drew with such joy.
I did the right thing. I know I did. So why does doing the right thing feel like tearing out a piece of myself?
"I thought I might find you here."
Mom's voice startles me. I quickly fold the drawing, tucking it into my pocket.
"Checking for maintenance issues." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"Of course." She steps inside, her eyes taking in the small touches I'd added for Daisy. "It's beautiful, Rowan. A perfect gift."
"It doesn't matter now."
"Doesn't it?" She settles onto the small bench, patting the space beside her. When I don't move, she sighs. "You've been working yourself to exhaustion for three days. Avoiding everyone."
"I've been busy." The excuse sounds pathetic. "There's work to do."
