Emma
The next morning, the sun slanted through my window, but it didn't warm me. I sat on the edge of my bed, tugging at the blanket as if it could shield me from what I knew was coming.
Downstairs, Mum's voice, clipped and sharp, carried through the house.
"Emma! Get up! There's work to be done. Breakfast won't wait for daydreamers!"
My stomach sank. Daydreams didn't feed siblings, didn't cover the holes in a family's life when everything was already fraying. I pushed off the covers and shuffled to the kitchen, trying to summon a smile for Zoey, who babbled happily despite the tension around us.
Dad was at the table, looking at a map spread out before him, his brow furrowed. "We have to decide soon. Hull isn't going to wait for us."
His voice was heavy with the weight of inevitability. Mum snapped at the twins to finish their breakfast and at Teddy to fetch milk without spilling it, her sharp words rattling through the morning air.
I tried to concentrate on the little tasks like pouring tea and buttering toast, but my mind kept drifting to the woods, to Tommy, to the last stolen moments in the quiet clearing.
I glanced at Zoey, tugging at my sleeve. "Emmy?" she asked softly. I forced a smile and lifted her onto my hip, trying to calm the lump in my throat.
The twins began bickering over what to watch on the tv while Teddy tried to sneak out with his bike, only for Mum to scold them into submission. My stomach knotted as I carried plates to the sink, wishing I could be anywhere but here.
I thought of Tommy, somewhere beyond the lake, waiting. I imagined him walking into the clearing, hands full of books or sandwiches, and my chest ached. But there was no time for longing. There was only work, responsibility, and the suffocating knowledge that this summer might be our last together.
As the day stretched on, Dad called me to the shed. "Emma, we need to sort the tools and get ready for moving. Can't put it off any longer." His words weren't angry, only certain — but certainty felt like a blade against my ribs.
I swallowed hard, nodding, but inside, my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't stop thinking about Tommy, the woods, the promises, and the looming end of everything I wanted to hold onto.
Tommy
I walked briskly, with my hands shoved deep in my pockets, my jaw tight. Father's booming laughter had drifted up the staircase that morning, a sound that made my teeth grit. Everything about this morning reminded me that the world outside the woods didn't bend to my feelings, no matter how desperately I wanted it to.
Even worse, the memory of last night's promises I made to Emma — the promises we had whispered to each other in the dark — made the reality more unbearable. I'd spent hours plotting how to hold onto Emma, how to delay the destruction of the woods, how to find a way to keep her safe. And yet, all it took was breakfast with my family to remind me that wealth, influence, and family expectations were walls I couldn't scale. Not until I grew up.
I clenched my fists, feeling my chest ache, with frustration, with hopeless longing, all while Father talked about council meetings, planning permissions, and progress that would crush everything I wanted to protect.
This summer, it seemed, was moving faster than I could even try to hold it.
My mind wandered to the lake, imagining the clearing, imagining Emma waiting for me.
I slipped out before anyone could notice, my trainers silent on the gravel path, my heart hammering with the thrill of sneaking away.
Each step toward the woods was a mix of anticipation and guilt — anticipation for seeing her, guilt for leaving my obligations behind. But nothing mattered as much as finding her, even for an hour.
The clearing was empty when I arrived, and my chest clenched. I ran my fingers along the rough bark of the tree we had carved our initials into, brushing over the heart we'd drawn together. I traced it slowly, wishing she would come, imagining her face lighting up at the sight.
Then I heard the soft rustle of leaves, and there she was, stepping into the clearing, Zoey perched on her hip, looking like the only bright thing in the world.
Even from a distance, my stomach twisted. She smiled — a small, shy smile, but enough to make my heart beat faster — I waved.
I crossed the clearing quickly, careful not to trip over roots or stones, and she set Zoey down just long enough for me to brush my hand down her cheek in greeting. She leaned slightly into me, but we didn't hug. Our closeness hummed with electricity, and I could feel it in the tension of her arms, the way she avoided touching me too much, as if she knew we couldn't, shouldn't, take things further.
"So," I said, trying to keep my voice light, "I brought you something." I held up a small bag with a couple of sandwiches, a juice bottle, and some fruit. She laughed softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.
"You didn't have to," she said, her voice warm.
"I wanted to," I replied. "Besides, I know you've been working hard at home. I thought you deserved a break and a small picnic."
She smiled again, the kind of smile that made my chest ache, and we sat on the blanket I'd spread out. We ate slowly, sharing bits of sandwiches, trading half-smiles and glances that lingered just a second too long.
We didn't touch more than brief brushes of hands, small touches that made me shiver. Her shoulder bumped mine accidentally, and I pressed back lightly, only to pull away immediately when I sensed her hesitation. We both laughed nervously, and the tension melted for a moment, replaced by a delicate, charged warmth that neither of us could — or dared to — name.
"I wish this summer didn't have to end," I said quietly, staring at the trees beyond the clearing, knowing that everything else — the woods, her home — was precarious.
"Me too," she replied, voice tight, eyes downcast. "But we can make these moments count. Just… don't forget me, Tommy."
"I won't, ever" I promised, my hand holding hers. "You're not someone I could forget, Emma, even if I tried."
She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering, and for a moment we just sat there, our eyes locked, our hands clasped tightly, the silence between us louder than any words. And in that silence, I felt it — the tether between us, strong and unbroken, holding us together even as the world threatened to pull us apart.
When it was time to leave, we stood awkwardly, neither of us wanting to step back. I pulled her close, she hesitated, then let me hold her for a brief, electric moment before pulling away. We shared a final, lingering look, one that said everything we couldn't voice. I kissed her forehead, then her right hand, then her left, before I walked back toward home, stomach tight, chest heavy, mind spinning with thoughts of her, of the woods, of everything ahead — and the knowledge that no matter what the coming days would bring, I had to see her again tomorrow, and every day after that, for as long as I lived.