"That sounds... deflating."
"It is," Olivia admitted. "But it matters. The work we do here matters. And if I give it up, I lose more than just the land. I lose what this place means. For the animals. For people like you. And Davey."
Natalie felt a pang in her chest. She reached out, lightly touched Olivia’s arm.
"You haven’t lost him."
"Sometimes," Olivia said quietly, "I think I’ve been waiting to lose him, almost knowing this phase was coming or maybe all parents feel like that, who knows."
They walked in silence again, the path narrowing as theyreached a small overlook. Below them, the valley stretched wide and wild, dotted with patches of forest and clearings where deer might graze. The sanctuary sat like a hidden gem in the hills, its cabins and enclosures blending into the land.
Natalie drew in a breath of the sharp, clean air. She could feel the mountain settling into her lungs, chasing out the staleness of city streets and hospital corridors. Her heart still hurt, bruised and wary, but here in this place, she could almost believe it might one day feel whole again.
"Thanks for letting me come," she said softly.
Olivia turned, her expression open and filled with a quiet affection. "You’re not here as a guest, Nat. You belong here, I’ve often hoped you come."
Natalie smiled. The wind whispered through the trees, and they stood side by side, two women bound by friendship and hardship, facing a world that was still uncertain but filled, at last, with the promise of something more.
5
The sun was higher in the sky now, warming the meadow with its early spring light. Natalie moved alone through the sanctuary, following the dirt trail that wound its way behind the aviary and around the enclosure fencing. She carried a small bucket of chopped produce Olivia had handed her, carrots, apples, and a few boiled eggs for the foxes. The path beneath her boots was soft with pine needles, and birdsong descended from the treetops like a welcome.
She was beginning to relax into this rhythm, into the breath of the forest, the hush of leaves. Her shoulders didn’t sit quite as high, her breath didn’t feel quite so shallow. There were moments, even just slivers, where her thoughts weren’t knotted around Giles.
The trail meandered through a corridor of towering conifers, their trunks thick and ancient, their branches knitted tightly overhead to form a green canopy that dappled the sunlight into gold and moss. The air was rich with the scent of loam and woodsmoke. Every so often, she’d catch a glimpse of a deer trail breaking into the underbrush, or the blur of a rabbit bounding out of sight.
She paused by the enclosure’s outer gate, resting the bucket against her knee while she reached for the latch. And then her phone buzzed. A single vibration, low and long in her coat pocket. Natalie closed her eyes before she even pulled it out. She didn’t need to see the name. Somehow, she already knew. Still, she looked. Giles. Her thumb hovered over the screen. The message preview sat like a rock in her stomach.
I’ve been thinking. Can we talk? I made a mistake. I went back to the house. You’ve gone.
She stared at it for a long time. The trees around her were silent now, or maybe it was just her. The birds, the wind, all of it seemed to fade into the background. She sat down on a wooden stump beside the enclosure, the bucket forgotten. The ache bloomed again. Hot and wide and slow. She didn’t cry. But her hand trembled. What did he want from her now? Forgiveness? A return to the cold, threadbare life she had finally stepped away from? Was it guilt? Regret? A moment of weakness?
The sanctuary had felt like a clean slate, a place outside of time. But that message dragged her back to everything she was trying to forget. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the trees with the sound of gentle hushes. A raven called from somewhere deeper in the forest, its cry long and guttural. Were the wild things trying to tell her something? She turned the phone over in her hands and placed it screen-down beside her. Not now. Not here.
"You planning to feed those foxes or just give them a sermon?"
The voice came from behind her. Rough, low, edged with dry humor. Natalie stood quickly, brushing her palms against herjeans. A tall man approached from the trail, dressed in a dark green work shirt and heavy boots dusted with dried mud. His jaw was covered in stubble, his hair pulled back into a loose knot at the base of his neck. He carried a tool belt slung over one shoulder and held a wire crate filled with empty water bowls. He looked like he belonged here. Weathered. Self-contained. There was something almost feral in the way he moved, silent, economical. Like the land itself had shaped him.
"Sorry," Natalie said, stepping aside automatically.
He set the crate down near the gate, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t mean to startle you."
"You didn’t. I just..."
She trailed off, gesturing at the bucket.
He glanced down at the food, then back at her. "You’re the vet Olivia mentioned."
"Natalie Carrington."
"Mason Bennett."
They shook hands briefly. His grip was firm but not aggressive, his hand rough with callouses.
"You’re new to sanctuaries?" he asked.
"Not to animals," Natalie said. "But yes. To this."
