Brent’s POV
The kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the farmhouse settling into the night. I sat at the table, my phone lying in front of me like an unanswered question. The screen was still blank despite the message I’d sent hours ago, the silence stretching longer than I cared to admit.
Betty hadn’t replied.
I tried to tell myself it didn’t mean anything. She was busy; her life on campus had always been a whirlwind of responsibilities and deadlines. But the gnawing feeling in my gut said otherwise. It wasn’t just about this message or even the last few. It was the way things had been between us lately—quiet, distant, strained. Like the lines of communication were fraying, one thread at a time.
I wasn’t one for dramatics. I believed in letting people breathe, in giving them space to figure things out. But the silence between Betty and me wasn’t the kind that healed. It was the kind that grew, that widened the gap until it was too far to cross.
I ran a hand through my hair, the familiar motion doing little to ease the tension building in my chest. The farm had always been my anchor, a place where things made sense, where problems could be solved with enough effort and patience. But this? This wasn’t something I could fix with my hands.
With a deep breath, I picked up my phone again. My fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating for only a moment before I started typing.
Betty, we need to talk. Let me know when you’re free.
I stared at the words for a long time before hitting send. They felt final in a way I couldn’t explain, like a turning point I wasn’t sure I was ready for. The message sent, and the screen returned to its blank, expectant state.
Setting the phone down, I leaned back in my chair, my gaze drifting out the window to the darkened fields beyond. The silence inside the farmhouse was loud now, pressing down on me as the weight of my own doubts settled in.
I loved Betty—I knew that as surely as I knew the contours of this land, the rhythms of the seasons. But love wasn’t always enough, was it? Sometimes the distance between two people grew too wide, and no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t pull them back.
I wasn’t ready to lose her. Not yet. But the crossroads we were at felt inevitable, like the universe was asking both of us to decide what came next. And deep down, I wasn’t sure what her answer would be—or if I was ready to hear it.