Brent’s POV
The farm was unusually quiet, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful but oppressive. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of the windmill couldn’t fill the silence pressing down on me. I’d been keeping busy—throwing myself into repairs, chores, and anything else that kept my hands occupied. But no matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something important was slipping through my fingers.
Betty hadn’t called in three days.
I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. She was busy; I knew how much she had on her plate with The Unseen, the magazine feature, and her classes. But even as I tried to rationalize it, the growing space between us gnawed at the edges of my mind. It wasn’t just the missed calls—it was the way our conversations had changed. Shorter. Lighter. Like she was holding something back.
I walked to the edge of the field, where the late afternoon sun was dipping below the horizon, casting golden light over the rolling hills. The sight should have been comforting—it always had been—but today, it only made me feel more restless. I pulled my phone from my pocket, staring at her name in my contacts. My thumb hovered over the call button, but instead, I started typing a message:
Miss you. Call me when you can.
I stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send. The words felt inadequate, like they didn’t capture the ache I couldn’t quite explain. The minutes stretched into hours as I waited, my phone resting on the kitchen table while I busied myself feeding the animals and fixing the fencing.
Her reply finally came after dark: Miss you too. Things are crazy here. Will call soon.
Soon. It was always “soon.”
I set the phone down with a sigh, running a hand through my hair. The reply was what I’d expected—friendly, reassuring, but distant. Betty had always been ambitious, driven by her dreams and the world she wanted to build for herself. I admired that about her, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been left behind in the process.
The farm had always been enough for me. The work was honest, the life simple. But as I stared out the kitchen window at the darkened fields, a question I’d been avoiding rose to the surface: Was it enough for us?
The thought lingered, heavy and unwelcome, as I leaned against the counter. I loved Betty—more than I could put into words—but the distance between us felt like more than miles. It felt like we were living in two different worlds, each pulling her further away from me.
As the clock ticked on and the quiet of the night settled around me, I made a promise to myself. The next time she called, I wouldn’t settle for “soon.” We needed to talk—really talk—before the cracks between us turned into something we couldn’t fix.