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I expect Boone to move, but he doesn’t.

His hands remain wrapped around the reins while he stares at the house. His breathing has become shallow enough that I can see the slight rise and fall of his shoulders inside his coat.

“You’re home,” I say.

He swallows, but he doesn’t dismount. I wait for him to swing his leg over Bramble and run toward the house. I expect him to call for his father the instant his boots touch the ground. After everything he did to get here, I expect something.

Boone gives me nothing.

He simply sits beside me and stares at the home he begged me for months to return to. Then his fingers begin to tremble around the reins.

“Go,” I say gently. “It’s all right.”

His gaze flicks to mine, and he stares at me like he’s waiting for the command that usually follows.

There isn’t one.

I loosen my grip on the reins and nod toward the house. “You’re free, Boone.”

His lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. His attention returns to the little house where his father is waiting. Everything he has begged me for is only a few yards away now. His home. His father. His freedom.

Still, he hesitates.

Eventually, Boone swings one leg over Bramble and lowers himself to the ground. His boots touch the dirt, but he remains beside the horse with one hand resting against the saddle. He looks at the house, then at me, only to look toward the house again.

I should say something.

There should be words for this moment. Something that could make what I’ve done less terrible, or at least explain why it took me so long to understand that loving him and possessing him cannot be the same thing. An apology feels pitiful compared to everything I’ve taken from him, and asking for forgiveness would only be another selfish demand.

So I say nothing.

I turn my horse around.

The first few steps away from him are easy enough. Then the distance between us begins to grow, and breathing becomes harder with every step my horse takes. I tighten my hands around the reins and keep moving because if I turn around now, everything I said this morning becomes meaningless.

This is what Boone wanted.

His father. His home. His freedom. I gave them back to him.

I lived without him once. I should be able to do it again.

Except I know better now.

For years, I woke every morning and moved through the same empty rooms without ever questioning whether I was happy. I tended my plants. I ate alone. I sat in front of my fire with Soleil and listened to nothing but the crackling wood.

Then Boone came.

Now I know what his laughter sounds like when something genuinely amuses him. I know the feeling of his hand sliding willingly into mine and the way his face changes when he talks about his father. I know he loves cherries despite having never tasted one until he came to me. I know there is a tiny seed buried in the soil of my greenhouse because he wanted to plant his first cherry tree.

I’ll have to watch it grow without him.

My horse carries me several more steps slowly before I realize I’ve nearly stopped her. I urge her forward again and picture the castle waiting at the top of the mountain. The corridors will be silent. The chair beside the fireplace will be empty, and Soleil will wander into rooms looking for the man who always stopped whatever he was doing to pet her.

I’ll look for him too.

I make it nearly a hundred feet.

“Rhys!”