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A breeze, hot and low, cut through the tall, dying grass, filling the air with the sound of a soft promise that clawed its way to the front of Dina's thoughts.
She lay there, hair tangled and knotted, shirt patched with spots of crumbling dirt and smears of grass, looking up at the cloudless sky. The sun had set moments ago, leaving the field glowing orange, almost like a fire that would never burn out.
Through the bruising red-blue of the sky, she could count a few stars now. She welcomed the company, as if counting them would somehow ease the pain in her chest… one notch of relief for each new star discovered.
"I can't."
Her jaw tightened; she felt the water welling in her eyes, unable to push the memory away fast enough to stop it.
She flexed her fingertips into the dirt, the pads of her fingers welcomed by the cool, damp earth. She dug them in deeper, unafraid of ruining her nails or messing up her clothes.
None of that mattered. It never really did, and it especially didn't matter now.
The metallic tang of iron in the dirt peppered the air, carried by the hot breeze that stirred the tall stalks around her. She closed her eyes, trying to soak in this moment.
The light cadence of cicadas in the distance, the smell of fresh soil and the dry hay of late summer, the fading twilight allowing the darkness of a hot night to take over.
This was her home. It always would be.
There was this thing her sister used to say: that we had this invisible string that stretched throughout our entire lives. It connected us to our future, to our past, and our present. That no matter what choice we made, we always had this string of fate that tied us back to something important. Something worth fighting for.
This home would always be part of her story. Up until a week ago, she had thought it would be there until the day she died, old and peaceful in her sleep.
But life had other plans.
That ache settled in again, spreading with the breath she took, expanding through her chest and down into her stomach. She thought about this grass, this land, the fence they had worked so damn hard to put up. The letters they had carved into the oak just outside of the house; the swing on one of its branches. The quiet tinkling of the wind chimes on the porch that had been the soundtrack to some of the best and worst conversations she'd ever had.
It was those goddamn gardenias on the kitchen tile, the missing doorknob of the closet upstairs, the fifth step of the stairs that squeaked if you stepped too far to the right… a built-in warning bell that always told her when Ellie couldn't sleep.
She worried she'd forget all of it.
Nettles.
That was the thing she couldn't forget.
The memory was sharp, cutting through the nostalgia like a blade. It was the heat of that day, the oppressive humidity of late July that made the air feel like thick water.
It was one of the first things they did when they moved out here: clear the overgrown patch of stinging nettle from the south side of the barn.
She was so pregnant then. It made everything feel ten times harder, like she had a watermelon strapped to her chest, stealing her breath. But she had insisted. She needed to make this place safe. She needed to know that when the goats and the sheep came, they could graze without fear.
She felt eyes boring into her back as she yanked another plant out of the dry earth.
"Dina, stop."
The voice was rough. Tired.
Dina glanced over her shoulder.
Ellie stood a few feet away, tense and shifting anxiously from foot to foot. She wasn't helping clear the weeds, instead deciding to pace the perimeter, eyes scanning the tree line, guarding them from threats that only she could see.
Dina adjusted her grip, the thick leather gloves groaning as she twisted a tough root. "I'm almost done. Just this patch."
"You're hurting yourself."
"I'm fine, El." She pulled. The root snapped, sending a spray of dirt onto her lap. But as the plant came free, a stubborn stalk whipped back, catching the exposed skin of her inner forearm, just above the glove.
Dina hissed, dropping the plant. The sting was instant… white-hot and throbbing, raising a line of angry red welts on her skin immediately.
She clutched her arm, squeezing her eyes shut for a second against the burn.
When she opened them, Ellie stood frozen in her tracks.
She was staring at the red welts rising on Dina's skin, at the tiny gem-like droplets of blood beginning to bead on the surface.
Ellie's eyes went wide, pupils blown, swallowing the green of her irises. She wasn't seeing the farm anymore. She wasn't seeing a nettle sting; she was seeing Seattle.
Dina felt the shift then. A cold drop in her stomach that had nothing to do with the sting.
"It's just a plant, Ellie," Dina said, her voice softer now. She tried to offer a smile, tried to bridge the gap. "It stings for a minute, and then it heals. It’s worth it to clear the way."
It’s worth it for you.
Ellie didn't answer. She took a step back, her chest rising and falling faster now. Her hand instinctively flew to her chest, rubbing a small circle there as she retreated back into the shade of the house. Away from the blood, away from the risk.
Dina had watched her go. She looked at the pile of dead weeds, and then at the empty space she had cleared.
She had always thought they could heal. That if they just built a nice life, the nightmares would fade. But looking at Ellie’s retreating back, a terrifying thought took root.
What if she can’t come back from this? What if we can't?
Dina swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at the cleared earth. She imagined the goats and sheep there. She imagined JJ running, his laugh loud and carefree.
She grabbed another weed.
Ellie was wrong. You don't avoid the nettles; you rip them out by the roots, even if your hands bleed doing it. That was living.
Back then she had hope. Hope they could move past it one day. Hope they could heal. But lying here in the grass, staring up at the darkening sky, she knew better.
She felt it then, and she felt it now. The call of the void, the lonely melody that tried to coax her into the endless black.
She knew that they'd never be the same after Seattle, but she had pulled that invisible string and tied it to herself like a lifeline. This was just a speed bump. They'd work through it. Somehow.
But it seems that wasn't happening.
She breathed deep, smelling the air again. This time she smelled the flowery scent of freshly cut grass and something burning on the wind. Must be the fireplace, lit up one last night before they left the house for good.
The tension made her fingers tighten in the dirt, made her stomach twist.
She didn't want to leave.
Not yet.
If she only had more time, more of herself to give, maybe things would have turned out differently.
She swallowed, her throat dry.
She remembered the end of that day with the nettles. Ellie had eventually come back out, face washed and pale, burying the panic deep down where she thought Dina couldn't see it.
Dina had leaned against Ellie, head on her shoulder, staring at the pile of pulled weeds. Her fingers burned, her back ached, but looking at the barn… their barn, she knew it was worth it.
"What's a little pain now for all the love these little guys are gonna give?"
Lying here in the grass, visiting these memories… these moments that were filled with quiet hope stung worse than any nettle could.
Why couldn't she stay?
A tear cut its path down her cheek, leaving a clean streak in the dirt that smudged her skin.
"Prove it. Stay."
"I can't."
The worst part about all of it was how stupid she felt.
This idea of 'invisible strings'… all it seemed to lead to was pain. It felt more like a noose than a lifeline. First her mother, then her sister, and now… her heart.
How was she supposed to do this, all of this, on her own now? The sheer size of the emptiness in front of her felt crushing. It was too big to cross.
She pictured little JJ's fingers, so small and chubby, wrapped tightly around her pinky. She remembered the surprising strength of his grip. It was instinct, primal and demanding.
He didn't know about broken hearts. He didn't know about Seattle or revenge or grief. He just knew that he was hungry, or tired, or cold, and that she was the one who fixed it.
She took a shaky breath, letting that imaginary grip anchor her.
She didn't need to know where she was going ten years from now. She didn't need to figure out how to be a single mother for the rest of her life.
She just needed to get him to Jackson. She just needed to get him through the night.
As long as she had that little potato, she had a reason to get up. The string tied to him wasn't pulling her back to the past; it was holding her down to the earth, keeping her from floating off into the gray static of her own misery.
She loved him with a terrifying intensity. She would tear the world apart with her bare hands if it meant keeping him safe. She would swallow this grief, whole and jagged, just so he never had to taste it. She would put herself aside… her wants, her hurt, her fear, every single day just to make sure he felt whole.
But God, she was tired.
She was grateful Robin was inside. Jesse’s mom had arrived that afternoon, immediately taking JJ into her arms and shooing Dina outside. She was probably humming to him right now, stirring soup on the stove, buying Dina this stolen time. A few precious minutes to fall apart before she had to put herself back together.
The call of a nighthawk pulled her back, a rhythmic chime reminding her that the night was settling over Wyoming. That the temperature was dropping. That she was a mother, and her son was waiting inside.
But she didn't move. Not yet.
She let her limbs stay heavy in the grass. She knew she should get up. She knew the routine that waited for her.
But for just sixty seconds, she wanted to be weightless. To be just herself, lying in the dirt, before she had to be Mama again. Before she had to be the strong one. Before she had to be the glue holding the pieces of a broken family together.
Can this moment last forever? Can she bottle this quiet, this stillness?
Truth be told, if she could pick a heaven, a place to come back to when her time was finally up, it would look like the dream of this place.
Not the reality of the empty house behind her, but the version of it she had wanted so badly. The one where they grew old here. The one where they sat on the porch and watched JJ grow into a strong adult, just like his dad. It was a phantom future, a beautiful lie whispered by the nostalgia of the dying light.
But life had other plans.
The nighthawk called again, insistent now. It broke the spell.
Dina sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet air. She opened her eyes, taking in the stars one more time before steeling herself and standing up. She dusted the dirt away from her jeans, brushing off the fantasy along with the soil.
She gave the skyline one last look. She reveled in the beauty of it and acknowledged the fear she felt bubble to the surface.
Whatever came next, another day would come. Another diaper, another feeding, another sunset with her son… and that, she could handle.
The next morning, the sun rose harsh and bright, exposing every dust mote in the emptying house.
Robin was already outside, efficiently loading JJ into the truck along with the last few boxes. A few men from the town, friends of Jesse’s parents, had volunteered to help with the heavy lifting.
It was kind of them. It was community. But Dina couldn't meet their eyes.
She stood near the doorway, arms wrapped tight around her ribs, focused intently on the scuff marks on her boots. Every thud of a crate being loaded onto the truck felt like a gavel banging down. Stupid. Failed. Alone.
It felt selfish to even move out here, no matter what lies they had told themselves about "perimeter safety." Everyone knew the real reason they couldn't live in town.
Jackson was too loud with the dead.
In town, pain lurked around every corner. You couldn't walk down Main Street without seeing the ghost of Joel on a patrol route, or catch a glimpse of a flannel shirt that looked too much like Jesse.
The farm was supposed to be a sanctuary. A place where the silence was just silence, not an absence.
They had moved out here to outrun the ghosts. And for a while, it worked.
But now, she was dragging herself back there, stripped of her armor. She was returning as the girl whose girlfriend left her, the single mother raising a fatherless child. She could already feel the pitying looks of the townspeople, the hushed whispers in the dining hall.
Can you believe she left them?
Dina pushed off the doorframe, turning her back on the bright morning to make her way through the house one last time.
On the small bench in the entryway, a stack of fresh white sheets and a pillow sat waiting to be carried out to the truck.
Dina hesitated. She reached out and gathered them into her arms instead, pulling the bundle tight against her chest.
The living room was a hollow shell. Rectangles of clean paint on the walls marked where pictures had hung. The floor, usually littered with toys, was swept bare.
She walked past the spot near the kitchen island. Her steps faltered.
The memory hit her hard enough to knock the wind out of her. She could almost see it playing out in the dust. Ellie, standing there with her backpack, looking like she was already gone.
"We have a family. She doesn't get to be more important than that."
Dina closed her eyes, the echo of her own pleading voice ringing in her ears. She remembered the desperation, the way she had tried to use their love, their son, as a shield to keep Ellie from walking out that door.
"Stay."
"I can't."
The rejection still burned, a cold fire in her gut. Ellie had looked at their life and decided it wasn't enough. That they weren't enough to silence the noise in her head.
Dina swallowed the bitterness, forcing her feet to move. She walked up the stairs, past that creaky step, down the empty hallway to the bedroom.
She stopped at the threshold.
She looked down at the mattress. It looked so cold and sad lying there, stripped bare in this empty room.
Without the quilt, without the pillows, you could see the indentations of where they had slept. The history of two bodies trying to find comfort in the dark.
She felt her heart ache as she remembered nights where they had laughed here, cried here, slept with their son cuddled between them in a warm, tangled knot of limbs.
This was theirs, a shared thing.
And looking at those shapes in the mattress, the anger softened just enough to let the grief in.
Ellie hadn't left because she didn't love them, she left because she was drowning. She didn't know how to swim in calm waters.
Where was she? Was she okay? Was she even alive?
Dina's jaw tightened, her heart seizing. The silence of the room screamed the answer she was terrified to hear: She’s gone. She’s not coming back.
Dina looked down at the bundle of clean linens in her arms.
For a second, the logical part of her brain told her to turn around. Take them with you. Don't waste them on a ghost.
She gripped the sheets until her knuckles went white.
The void was loud here, in the quiet of the room. It whispered that the bed would stay empty forever. It urged her to accept the silence, to cut the cord and run.
But then she felt it. That faint, phantom tug in the center of her chest.
If she took everything, if she stripped this house bone-dry, she was severing the tie.
She couldn't do it.
She stepped forward and placed the stack of folded sheets gently on the foot of the bed. She set the lone pillow to the side of them.
She ran her hand over the folded cotton, smoothing a wrinkle that wasn't there. The fabric was cool, waiting for warmth. It was an offering. A beacon.
Just in case, she thought. Just in case the string pulls you back.
If Ellie did decide to come back… if she could come back, she would find this. She would know that even in the end, the door hadn't been bolted shut.
Dina pulled her hand away and stepped back. The room was empty, but it was no longer abandoned.
"Come home," she whispered to the dust motes dancing in the morning light.
She turned and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door towards her son. She was following her own string back to life, leaving the end of the other one right here, waiting to be picked up.