THEY SHOWED UP AT MY GATE WITH COOLERS AND SLEEPING BAGS AFTER I SAID NO—THEN MY FATHER DEMANDED I HAND OVER MY BEDROOM. HE THOUGHT I’D FOLD. I DIDN’T.
Noah didn’t push me to answer. That’s not his way. He lets silence sit until it turns into something true and I love him for that, even on days when the truth tastes like copper in my mouth. He leaned against the deck railing, coffee mug cradled in both hands, and studied the marsh grass…
