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Herbs hung drying from the beams. Morning light spilled across the table he’d built with his own hands. My labels had migrated onto jars beside his, my field equipment occupied an entire corner, and one of my sweaters hung over the back of a chair.

I hadn’t deliberately made space for myself here. I hadn’t needed to. Somewhere along the way, I’d simply stopped behaving like a guest.

Outside the window, I could see the edge of the propagation beds.

Our project.

I thought about the lab I’d begun imagining before I even realized I was imagining it. Somewhere small where I could study without turning every discovery into a publication race. Somewhere Grandma’s journals could sit on a shelf instead of being treated as an embarrassment I had to justify.

Somewhere I could do work that mattered to me.

I typed my response. I thanked them and told them I wouldn’t be accepting the position.

My thumb hovered over Send.

Was I doing this for Barrett? Partly. Pretending otherwise would have been ridiculous.

I loved him.

But if Barrett walked into the cabin right now and told me he’d changed his mind, that whatever existed between us had been wonderful but temporary, I still wouldn’t take that position.

That was how I knew. I wasn’t giving up my future for a man. I was finally choosing what I wanted my future to be.

I pressed Send and waited for the panic, for the sickening realization that I’d just thrown away everything I’d worked toward. It didn’t come. If anything, I felt lighter, as though I’d finally stopped forcing myself toward a future I no longer wanted.

My coffee had gone cold, so I stood to refill it. That was when I saw the cool bag beside the door. It was packed. Beside it sat my field crate, boots, and jacket. Everything was arranged neatly, ready to leave.

I stared at it.

Then I remembered yesterday morning: the Jeep, the repaired tire, the jumper cables, and the garage numbers tucked into my visor.

The road washes out at mile marker twenty-two after rain.

Last night, Barrett had portioned food into containers, including cheese that would last two days, and apples packed on top so they wouldn't bruise.

You haven’t asked me anything.

You know your own mind.

“Oh.” I sat down hard.

Oh, God, he’d heard the phone call. Of course he’d heard it. The man could probably hear a squirrel sneeze three miles away, and I’d taken a career-changing phone call approximately twenty feet from him.

Barrett thought I was leaving. Not eventually. Now. And he’d been helping me do it.

I covered my face with both hands. “Hazel, you absolute idiot.”

I’d been so distracted, I hadn’t put the pieces together until now.

Everything rearranged itself. He hadn’t stopped touching me because something had changed for him. He’d stopped because he thought something had changed for me. And instead of asking me to give up the position, instead of telling me what he wanted or making my decision harder, Barrett had serviced my Jeep, packed my food, and found the safest route out of Screaming Woods.

Nobody had ever loved me like that.

And he’d been doing it alone. That was the part that hurt.

I was on my feet before I consciously decided to move.

The porch door banged behind me.