Chapter 10 - Shadows on the Farm
Two weeks after their dinner in Denver, the reality of distance reasserted itself.
Ronan was back in Nebraska, swallowed by the endless demands of winter farm maintenance—checking livestock heaters, repairing fencing damaged by the late-autumn gales, and preparing machinery for the deep freeze of January. Yet, the phone calls and late-night texts became a steady, comforting rhythm between them. They talked about work, about books, about the absurdities of everyday life.
Then, mid-December, Cassidy noticed a subtle shift in Ronan’s tone.
During a phone call on a Tuesday night, his voice sounded tight, clipped, distracted.
“Ronan, is everything alright?” Cassidy asked, sitting cross-legged on her living room rug with a sketchpad in her lap. “You sound like you’re wrestling a tractor engine.”
“It’s nothing,” Ronan said, though the hesitation in his voice gave him away instantly. “Just... farm stuff. Uncle Luke’s truck broke down on the county road, and we’re trying to haul a load of feed before the next front moves in.”
“You’re hiding something,” Cassidy stated plainly.
A heavy sigh crackled through the phone line. “It’s the anniversary, Cassidy. Next week. Six years since Daniel died.”
The words dropped into the quiet space between them like lead weights. Cassidy’s hand tightened around her pencil, the graphite snapping against the paper.
“I didn't realize,” she murmured.
“Nobody talks about it much. We don't have to. The house does the talking for us,” Ronan said, his voice dropping an octave, rough with an exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix. “My mother has been polishing the silver for the ghost place setting since Sunday. She won't let anyone touch it. It’s like... every year, we step right back into the exact same hour of that December morning.”
“Ronan, do you want me to come out?”
The question slipped out before she could second-guess it. It was impulsive, irrational, and entirely driven by the fierce, protective instinct that had made her rescue Evelyn’s grocery cart weeks ago.
There was a long, suspended silence on the other end of the line.
“No,” Ronan said finally, his voice uncharacteristically strained. “You can’t, Cassidy. Next week is... it’s family only. It’s the one week of the year the gates don't just stay closed; they’re bolted shut. My mother doesn't want outsiders here for the remembrance. It’s our grief to carry.”
The words weren't cruel, but they struck Cassidy with the cold, sharp precision of a scalpel.
Outsiders.
She swallowed hard, a sudden, sharp sting of rejection pulling at her chest. She was an outsider. A temporary guest from Denver who had wandered into a closed-off world by accident.
“I understand,” Cassidy said, her voice entirely too steady, too controlled. “Of course. Take care of your family, Ronan.”
May you like
Before he could answer, she ended the call.
She sat in the quiet of her apartment, staring at the blank sketchpad on her lap, feeling the sudden, suffocating chill of a winter she hadn't invited.
