Page 37 of Wild Heart

"You left?" Natalie asked gently.

"She left," he answered. But his voice didn’t carry certainty. "Or maybe we both did, in different ways."

There was a beat of silence. The wind moved through the trees.

"After that, I just... I kept telling myself I wasn’t built for it. For family. For that kind of responsibility. And after a while, it became easier to believe that than to ask if I’d been wrong."

Natalie stepped closer, slipping her hand into his. He didn’t speak. His gaze was distant, as though he was still trying to let go of something that clung to his past. She studied him quietly. There was more he wasn’t saying. Something behind his eyes that suggested there were pages to his story that hadn’t been opened yet. She didn’t press. Not now.

But later, she would wonder. Later, she would remember this moment, the hesitation, the shadow. And she would begin to ask what he hadn’t yet dared to share. For now, they stood together in the quiet, the stars blinking overhead, and the sanctuary slowly exhaling around them. They didn’t have all the answers. But they had each other.

The morning after the open house dawned bright and clear, with a sky so blue it almost seemed performative, like nature itself was congratulating the sanctuary for a weekend well done. Olivia stood by the kitchen window of the main lodge, stirring a second cup of tea she barely tasted. Her cane leaned against thewall, untouched. It had been three days since she’d last used it. Her gait was still careful, but her confidence had returned like muscle memory.

On the table in front of her was a stack of envelopes, thank-you notes from visitors, donation receipts, and pledge forms from new community sponsors. A local organic co-op had offered to partner with them. A retired veterinarian wanted to volunteer part-time. Even the mayor’s office had sent a message of support.

They’d done it. At least for now, the sanctuary’s future felt less like a cliff’s edge and more like solid ground. She exhaled slowly and sat down, her body aching in familiar ways. But the ache wasn’t heavy with dread anymore. It was simply the cost of effort.

Davey entered a moment later, his boots tracking dry pine needles across the floor. He carried a clipboard and a look that didn’t quite match the morning’s optimism.

"Mail’s up. The new donor cards came in," he said.

Olivia nodded. "You’ve got a good system. Better than mine ever was."

He shrugged, eyes on the envelopes. "It’s just sorting."

"It’s more than that," she said. "It’s keeping us going."

Davey smiled, but there was something behind it. Something guarded. Olivia didn’t push. Not yet. She was just starting to win back the balance of their relationship, the kind forged by shared crisis and rebuilding. But she also sensed it. A space opening between them again, subtle but tangible.

Later that day, Olivia took a walk down to the welcome center where volunteers were restocking brochures. As she approached, she overheard two women in low conversation near the front desk.

"I heard he was expelled from school, not just dropped out."

"Really? Olivia’s boy? He always seemed quiet."

"Too quiet, if you ask me. Like a coiled spring."

The words sliced through the air, chilling her blood to ice. Olivia stopped just short of the door, heart thudding in her chest. Their voices carried with the kind of easy cruelty reserved for gossip passed under the guise of concern. She waited until their voices trailed off, then stepped inside, her expression neutral. The two women looked up guiltily, their faces coloring. She greeted them with her usual calm professionalism, asked after their work, and made a note to herself not to confront them. Yet.

But she felt it, that familiar judgment, quiet and cruel. The kind that lingered and infected, whispered at church gatherings, muttered at town meetings. As Olivia walked back to the lodge, her mind swirled. She had tried so hard to shield Davey, to let him carve his own path. And still, the past clung to them like fog. She couldn’t change where he’d been. But she would damn well defend who he was becoming.

Across the property, Natalie and Mason were giving a tour to a group of high school students from the community center. They moved as a team, weaving stories into facts, laughter into structure. Watching them together was like watching two hands of the same body. It was a beautiful thing, especially because she remembered the old Mason who could have had ‘trouble’ tattooed on his forehead. He’d come a long way from the angry young man he once was, and she was glad he’d finally found happiness.

Sighing, she turned and made her way back to the lodge, not allowing wistful thoughts of what might have been, or the face of a man she’d loved and lost any space in her head. Now wasn’t the time and it never would be again.

At the center, after the group departed, Natalie wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to Mason. "You’ve gotten good at this."

He raised a brow. "You mean not scaring kids away with my quiet intensity?"

She laughed. "Exactly."

They walked together through the enclosure trails, past the fox dens and down toward the overlook. Mason paused at the ridge, leaning on the fence.

"Olivia told me the donations were more than expected. Enough to keep us afloat through winter."

Natalie nodded. "She deserves every bit of it."

"So do you."

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