Page 4 of Soul to Possess

I stared at the envelope for a long time before I sealed it. The ink had barely dried. My handwriting looked uncertain. Like it didn’t want to take up space. I heard the door open behind me, soft creak, then the sound of Maddie’s boots on the warped floorboards. She didn’t say anything at first. Just crossed the room, picked up the mug I hadn’t touched, and poured herself a sip like she’d been invited.

“You’ve been real quiet,” she said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Which usually means one of three things: you’re either writing sad poetry again, you’re about to delete another app and buy a book instead, or you’re planning your escape.”

I lifted my eyes. “I’m not writing poetry.”

Her gaze dropped to the envelope in my hand. “What’s that?”

I swallowed. “A reply.”

Maddie took the envelope gently from me, like it might break. She read the name. Marvin.

“This the guy? Newspaper cowboy?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure?” she asked. But there was no judgment in it. Just… worry. The kind that builds up over time, after watching someone you love start over too many times without actually starting.

“No,” I said honestly. “But I sent the first letter. He wrote back. And I felt… seen.”

Maddie sat with that for a second. Then she passed the envelope back. “Well,” she said, “any man who makes you pull out real stationery and a pen probably deserves at least one more letter.”

I laughed, a breathy kind of laugh I wasn’t used to making. She didn’t smile, but I saw the warmth in her eyes. She was always doing that—looking at me like she was memorizing something she didn’t want to lose.

“You’re going to be okay,” Maddie said. “You just don’t know what kind of okay yet.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t believe it. Before I made it to the door, Maddie stopped me.

“Wait.” She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a tiny silver keychain—a horseshoe, faded and scratched. “Take this.”

I blinked. “From your glove box shrine?”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s a charm. You’re starting something, right? Might as well have a little luck with you.”

I turned it over in my hand. The edges were warm from her pocket, worn smooth from her thumb. It was stupid and sentimental and something she would never have given away without meaning it.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

“If he turns out to be an axe murderer, I’m driving to South Dakota myself,” she added, tossing me a wink. “And I’m bringing a shovel.”

I snorted. “To bury him?”

“To bring you home.”

And that—that’s what undid me a little. Not the joke, but the truth inside it. The way she saidhomelike it still meant something. Like I hadn’t already convinced myself I didn’t deserve one. It hit deeper than I expected. All the things I neversaid—about how lonely the nights were, how small the walls felt, how sometimes I talked out loud just to fill the silence—she didn’t need me to say them. She justknew. That was Maddie’s magic. She never needed the full confession to show up with a shovel.

I didn’t say anything else. Couldn’t. My throat was thick with the kind of grief that didn’t belong to a death, but to a thousand small losses stacked inside me like bricks. All the ways I’d stopped believing in good things. Inpeople. In being chosen for something soft and permanent. I held the keychain like a lifeline. It was warm from her hand, and in mine it felt like more than just a trinket. It felt like belief. Like she was giving me some piece of her courage, just enough to keep me from turning back.

I walked out the door with the letter tucked into my coat, heart fluttering uneven and nervous, like it didn’t know whether to be afraid or hopeful. Maybe both. Because maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of something. But the start of something different for a change.

Chapter Three

April 19th

Genevieve,

I wasn’t sure you’d write back. Honestly, I figured I’d scared you off with the ad. Most people would’ve laughed. Hell, I laughed writing it. But you wrote me anyway. That counts for something.

You asked about the horses. There are five. They all have moods. One of them hates me. I admire that in an animal—clarity. You’d probably get along with her. The snow’s melting here. It leaves behind the kind of mud that pulls your boots straight off. I almost lost a sock today. Thought of you when it happened. Wondered what you might think. Thought you’d probably make fun of me. I didn’t mind.

---