Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I press my free hand to my forehead, heart pounding. “You think I wrote this to live out a fantasy?”
“Didn’t you?”
Her words land like a slap. My body goes still.
A door creaks behind me, and someone moves around inside the ranch house. The men are going to read this, if they haven’t already. What am I going to do?
“You used me,” I whisper. “You used my absence to undermine me in front of Joshua so that you could shine. You’re after my job.”
“No,” she says too quickly. “I saved your piece.”
I hang up without another word.
My hands tremble as I lower the phone. All those conversations. The quiet trust built over dinners, children’s bedtime stories, and nights spent tangled in sheets and hope. I wrote everything down. Every confession, fear, and moment they gave me because it was beautiful, and I never wanted to forget.
I thought it was safe to create memories.
Instead, I handed over secrets like ammunition.
And now? They’ll never forgive me, and honestly, I don’t think they should.
The screen door slams behind me as I stumble out onto the porch, still clutching my phone like it might bite me. The early morning sun is cresting over the ridge, and it should be beautiful—it always is—but all I can focus on is the wreckage.
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Purposeful.
Conway.
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone pulls the air from around me. His jaw is tight in the same way it was when I arrived, before he softened, and his eyes spear me with their darkness layered with betrayal I won’t recover from.
“You lied,” he says, voice low and razor-sharp.
“No—I didn’t. Conway, I swear to you, I didn’t write that—”
“They’re our secrets, Grace. These are our lives laid out for the world to digest,” he cuts in, deadly calm. “You told them our business. About Corbin and Sadie. About Nora. About Levi.”
I flinch. “Not like that. I never thought they’d twist it like that. I didn’t even send my notes. They went into my private cloud files and rewrote the final draft. They changed it—”
“And they published it under your name.”
Silence.
He doesn’t shout. His voice gets quieter. More disappointed. “You said you wouldn’t do this to us. You said we could trust you. And then you made us believe you cared. You made the kids believe it. You made us hope and want—”
My throat burns. “I do care. I love—”
He shakes his head, eyes flaring. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Not now.”
I step forward, reaching for him like an apology could fix this. Like if I can show him how much my heart is breaking right now, and how guilty I feel, he’ll believe I never meant for any of this to happen.
But he steps back. “You’re worse than the other women who didn’t stay,” he says. “At least they were honest. You played house. Let every one of us believe that what we felt was real. That you might be worth hoping for and committing to.”
The breath punches from my chest.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” I whisper.
“But you have.”
I blink hard against the tears. “What do you want me to do?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Pack your things. Be gone before the others get back.”
That hurts. It hurts worse than anything. How can I leave without saying goodbye?
I turn without another word and make my way upstairs, through the homely kitchen and past the stairway of family photos that have brought me so much joy to study, each step heavier than the last. I pull my suitcase out, moving in a daze. My pink cowboy boots are by the bed. I perch on the edge and stare at them, breathing hard. My first gift. Their first promise.
I press my lips together so the sobs that wrack my body don’t make a sound.
I can’t take my boots with me. Not after this.
I pack in a daze, brittle as old parchment. When I wheel my bag downstairs, I leave the boots and my hat neatly by the door.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. I feel every creak in the floorboards like a stab through my heart.
Beau watches me as I pass. He wags his tail and slowly follows me, and his big, soulful eyes seem to plead with me to stay. I can’t bring myself to say goodbye to him, so I let the door close before he can follow me outside.
The dust whips around my jean-clad legs as I heft my suitcase into the trunk of the rental car I haven’t touched since I arrived. I glance back at the house, catching sight of Conway leaning against the doorjamb, his hat low so his face is shadowed, with Beau at his side. I look away quickly, shame and hurt like barbs in my chest.
I start the car in a daze and pull away, gravel crunching under the tires. My chest feels like it’s caving in as tears burn hot trails down my cheeks, and then, before the bend in the road that hides the ranch from view, I glance in the rearview mirror.