She studies me, something unreadable in her expression. “Just like that? No argument? No attempt to make me stay?”
I shake my head. “That would just prove I haven't learned anything, wouldn't it?” I move to the window, looking out at the land that has defined my entire existence—the land I've never imagined leaving. “Your dreams matter, Mia. Your independence matters. I won't be another person who tries to clip your wings.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with words unsaid.
“I’ll leave my old suitcase here,” she says softly, eyes flicking to the corner of the room like she’s already letting go. “The one with my Portree Mains stuff. If that’s okay.”
For a beat, I can’t breathe. My chest swells with stupid, reckless hope.
That suitcase—battered and sun-faded—feels like more than fabric and zippers. It’s a tether. A breadcrumb trail back to me. Maybe this means she’s not closing the door completely. Maybe she’ll come back.
But then she adds, with a shrug so casual it guts me, “You can keep it. Or toss it. I won’t need winter clothes in London during summer.”
And just like that, the floor shifts beneath me. The hope in my chest curdles, crashes. Because her words are too light, too dismissive, like she’s already halfway across the ocean. Like none of this—us—was ever more than temporary to her.
It’s such a small thing, that suitcase. But to me, it’s a monument. And watching her walk away from it feels a hell of a lot like watching her walk away fromme.
“Of course,” I say, trying my best to sound unaffected. “I'll keep it safe.”
“I know you will.” She hesitates, then adds, “I'd like you to drive me to the airport. Day after tomorrow.” Her voice cracking slightly “If that’s ok?”
The request surprises me. “You sure?”
“Unless you'd rather not.”
“No, I'd... I'd like that.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “What about tonight? Tomorrow? Where will you stay?”
“The cottage.” She offers a small smile. “Lily did an amazing job with it. Seems a shame not to use it at least once.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She's leaving. She's forgiven me enough to let me drive her to the airport, to leave a suitcase in my care, but she's still leaving.
“I should go,” she says, backing toward the door. “I have packing to do, calls to make. You understand.”
“Yeah.” I force another smile. “Go do what you need to do. I'll be here.”
After she leaves, I walk in a daze to the lounge and sink onto the couch, the weight of her decision pressing down on me like a physical thing. Two months. Maybe forever. This is exactly what I feared, exactly what I tried to prevent.
All I can do is respect her choice and hope, that she might choose to come back when those two months are up.
***
The day of her departure arrives too quickly. I pull up to the cottage at dawn, my truck freshly washed, my heart freshly broken. Mia is waiting on the porch with a single suitcase, her hair pulled back in that messy bun I've grown to love.
“All set?” I ask, taking her bag.
“As I'll ever be.” She hesitates, looking back at the cottage. “Thank you again for this place. It's perfect.”
“It suits you.” I load her suitcase into the truck, careful to keep my tone light. “Let me know if you want any changes while you're gone. I could add a hot tub, maybe an Olympic-sized pool in the backyard.”
She laughs, the sound both wonderful and painful. “Always going overboard, Taylor.”
“Only for the right people.” I say, not able to meet her eyes.
The drive to the airport passes too quickly. We talk about safe topics—her training schedule in London, the upcoming rodeo season, my shoulder therapy. We carefully avoid discussingwhat happens after her two months in London, whether she'll return to Texas at all.
In the departures terminal, we stand facing each other, surrounded by strangers. Time seems to slow while the rest of the world rushes past in a blur of rolling suitcases and overhead announcements.
“So,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets like that’ll somehow keep them from shaking—or reaching for her.
