Tommy
I found her in the clearing, the one place that always felt like ours. She was sitting on the log, knees tucked up, Zoey tracing circles in the dirt with a stick. The moment I saw her, something in my chest loosened. Yesterday had felt like the longest day of my life.
Emma looked up, her eyes sharp in a way that made me falter.
"Why didn't you come yesterday?"
The words hit harder than I expected. I'd spent the day thinking over the letter, praying my aunt would get it soon, imagining ways to stop my father before it was too late.
But I couldn't tell her any of that. Not yet. Not when it was nothing more than a desperate hope.
So I forced my shoulders into a shrug.
"I thought you needed rest. And I had to study."
Her lips pressed into a line. "Study."
"Yes," I said quickly, too quickly. "It's not that I didn't want to come. I just — didn't want you to get tired."
She nodded once but didn't meet my eyes again. Zoey babbled something, climbing into her lap, and Emma kissed the top of her head without looking up.
The silence stretched, heavier than usual. I wanted to explain, to tell her the truth — that I'd been trying to fight for her, for her family, in the only way I knew how. But if nothing came of it, what then? I'd only give her false hope.
So I sat beside her, feeling the distance between us like an ocean I couldn't cross.
Emma
He said he'd been studying. That he'd wanted to let me rest.
The words sat sour in my stomach. For one brief moment, I'd let myself believe he was different from everyone else. That I wasn't just another thing to be squeezed in between obligations and expectations.
But maybe I was wrong.
I kept my eyes on Zoey, who squirmed happily in my lap, smearing dirt across her dress. It was easier to watch her than to look at Tommy, sitting so close but feeling miles away.
I didn't argue. Didn't ask more. What would be the point? If he wanted to be here, really wanted to, he would have found a way. He always found a way.
So I smiled at Zoey instead, running my fingers through her bright hair, and told myself not to care so much. Not to give him more of me than I could afford.
If he was putting distance between us, then maybe I should, too.
Because one day soon, when we left this place behind, it would hurt less if I started pulling away now.
Zoey had grown restless, squirming in my arms, her little voice piping, "Home, Emmy. Home."
It was as good an excuse as any. I stood quickly, brushing dirt from my shorts. "I should go back. Zoey needs to eat."
Tommy rose too, almost too fast, his expression pinched like he was trying to hold onto something slipping away. "Emma, wait."
He reached for my hand, his fingers brushing mine, but I pulled away before he could take it. The look on his face — startled, almost wounded — made my chest ache, but I forced myself to turn, shifting Zoey higher on my hip.
"I'll see you," I said softly, though I didn't know if I meant it.
And before he could say anything else, I walked back down the trail, not daring to look behind me.
Tommy
Her hand slipped out of mine like water, gone before I could even grasp it. I wanted to pull her back, hold her, kiss her until she believed I wasn't letting go. But the look in her eyes — hurt, shadowed, guarded — stopped me cold.
It wasn't just about yesterday. It wasn't just about me. It was about Father. About what my family was about to do to hers.
The truth burned in my gut.
Emma didn't even know the half of it, and already I could see the weight pressing her down.
Guilt wrapped tight around my chest as I watched her disappear into the trees with Zoey. My fists clenched uselessly at my sides.
This was all because of him — because of Father and his schemes, his endless hunger for more.
By the time I got home, my anger was like a live wire under my skin, sparking with every step. I stormed up the drive, ready to march straight into Father's study and demand he stop this "progress".
But when I pushed open the front door, the sound hit me first: low voices, clipped and serious, carrying down the hall.
The men in suits were back.
I froze in the foyer, the same knot of dread twisting in my stomach as the last time they'd come.
Their voices gave me a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Through the heavy oak, I heard Father's laugh — sharp, confident, the sound of a man who felt like he'd already won.
And just like that, my anger turned to something colder. A helplessness that made me feel small, like a boy again instead of someone who could fight for Emma.
I stayed in the shadows of the hall, jaw tight, listening to the murmur of voices I couldn't quite make out, knowing one thing for certain: every word spoken behind that closed door was another stone laid in the wall that stood between me and Emma.