Brent’s POV
Her reply came late, three small words that carried the weight of uncertainty: Let’s talk tomorrow.
I set my phone down on the kitchen counter, the screen going dark as I stared out at the fields bathed in soft moonlight. The stillness of the night should have been calming, but instead, it felt hollow. The farmhouse, usually my sanctuary, seemed bigger tonight—emptier without her here.
“Everything okay?”
Mom’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see her standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes, soft but perceptive, lingered on me a moment longer than usual.
“Yeah,” I said automatically, though the tightness in my voice betrayed the truth.
Mom raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but she didn’t push. Instead, she moved to the stove, her familiar motions comforting in their routine as she put the kettle on.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” she said, her tone light but probing. “Trouble with Betty?”
I hesitated, my fingers drumming lightly on the countertop. “I think so,” I admitted finally. “She’s… distant.”
The kettle whistled softly, and Mom poured the hot water into a mug, stirring in a spoonful of honey. The soft clink of the spoon against the ceramic filled the silence as I waited for her to respond.
“Have you told her how you feel?” she asked, setting the mug down in front of me and resting a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m trying,” I said, my voice quieter now, almost lost in the stillness of the kitchen. “But I don’t think it’s enough.”
Mom’s hand lingered, her presence steady and reassuring. “Sometimes,” she said gently, “the best thing you can do is let them come to you. Give her space, Brent. If she’s feeling lost, crowding her will only make it harder for her to find her way back.”
I nodded slowly, though the idea of waiting felt unbearable, like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to see what lay below. Every instinct I had screamed at me to do something—to fix this before it slipped further out of reach. But deep down, I knew Mom was right.
The problem wasn’t just the silence between us; it was the growing distance I didn’t know how to bridge. Betty had always been a whirlwind of ambition and creativity, a force of nature that had drawn me in completely. But now, that same drive seemed to be pulling her away, into a world I wasn’t sure I fit into anymore.
I wrapped my hands around the mug, the warmth seeping into my palms as I stared down into the tea. “What if giving her space means losing her?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mom’s expression softened, and she squeezed my shoulder gently. “If she’s the one, Brent, she’ll come back to you. And if not…” Her voice trailed off, her silence more comforting than any platitude could have been.
I nodded again, though the knot in my chest didn’t loosen. The thought of losing Betty was a weight I didn’t know how to carry. But for now, all I could do was wait—and hope that when tomorrow came, she’d be ready to meet me halfway.