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For so long, I had carried this weight alone. It lived in the quiet spaces, in the late nights staring at the ceiling, in the ghosts that filled this farm no matter how hard I tried to outrun them. I had convinced myself that breaking wasn’t an option. That as long as I kept moving, kept working, kept pushing, I could outrun the pain.

But I couldn’t.

And now, sitting by this fire with Rose beside me, my walls crumbling at my feet, I had never felt more exhausted.

She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t offer empty words or tell me it would get easier. She just held on, her fingers wrapped around my wrist like she was anchoring me in place.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said softly.

I let out a shaky breath, my head dropping forward as I clenched my jaw against the emotion rising in my chest.

“I don’t know how else to do it,” I admitted.

Rose shifted closer, her presence something solid in a world that had felt like it was slipping through my fingers for years. “Then let me help.”

I looked at her then, really looked at her. There was no pity in her eyes, no hesitation—just understanding. And that’s what finally cracked me wide open.

Because I wasn’t used to being understood.

I sucked in another breath, feeling it shake all the way down to my ribs. My voice was hoarse when I spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I miss them so damn much, Rose.”

Her face softened, and without thinking, I reached for her, pulling her against me like she was the only thing keeping me standing.

“I can’t even imagine.” Rose didn’t try to pretend like she understood, which helped more than she knew.

Rose didn’t pull away. She just let me hold her, the steady rhythm of her breathing grounding me as the storm inside me raged on. Her arms wrapped around my back, gentle but firm, offering a comfort I wasn’t sure I deserved. I buried my face in her hair, the scent of her calming me, even as the weight of everything pressed down on me harder than ever.

“I don’t know how to let go,” I whispered against her, my voice cracking with every word. “I’ve been holding on for so long, I don’t even know who I’d be if I stopped.”

She ran her fingers along my back, slow and soothing, like she was trying to chase away the tremors rattling through me. “You don’t have to let go all at once,” she murmured. “You can let go of the reins a little at a time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Rose,” I said, my voice hoarse as I pulled back slightly to look at her. “I don’t know how to fix this without breaking everything.”

She smiled, a soft, sad thing. “You’re not breaking everything. You’re just falling apart a little. And that’s okay. Look at who I was when I got here.”

I shook my head, my hand running through my hair as I looked down at the ground, the fire casting flickering shadows across the dirt. “I’ve been trying so damn hard to fix this place, to keep it together. But every day it feels like it’s slipping away.”

Rose reached out, her hand lifting my chin so I had to meet her gaze. “You don’t have to save everything, Wells. You can let go of the things that are holding you back. It’s okay to put the pieces down for a while.”

I wanted to believe her. God, I did. But all I’d ever known was holding on. My whole life, I’d been fighting to keep everything in place—to keep this place running, to keep the memories of my parents alive, to keep the farm from slipping through my fingers. If I let go, I was afraid I might lose it all.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I confessed, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “I’m scared of what will happen if I stop.”

Rose didn’t look away. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “I’m not asking you to stop, Wells. I’m asking you to let me help. Let me hold some of that weight for you, just like you did for me.”

And for the first time, I realized that I didn’t have to carry everything on my own. That letting Rose in might be the thing that saved me, not the thing that broke me.

I drew in a shaky breath, the firelight dancing in my vision as I stared at the flames. “I’m scared,” I admitted, the words barely more than a whisper. Saying it out loud felt like stripping myself bare, exposing the parts of me I’d kept locked away for so long.

Rose didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Instead, she pulled me back into her arms, her warmth folding around me like a shield against the weight of everything I’d been carrying. And in that moment, I understood something I hadn’t before—I didn’t have to have all the answers. I didn’t have to know how to fix everything.

I just had to let go and trust that she wasn’t going anywhere.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that not everything was beyond repair. That even the pieces I thought were shattered beyond saving could still be put back together.

“Let’s do this,” Rose said at last, her voice steady in the quiet night. “You’re taking tomorrow off.”

I blinked, startled out of the moment. “A Wednesday?” I shook my head, a list of tasks ran through my head. “I can’t.”