Craig was great about it. At first, he threw out two or three curses because that left him with a very short timeframe to find someone to complete my designs before the presentation to the new investors, but he was still understanding. He knew about my family’s situation from the start and was aware that I had huge responsibilities at home, so he didn’t ask me for those two weeks, which gave me all the time in the world to work on the farm this week. I’ve used it to my advantage. Would I have preferred burying myself in my creative work? Of course. But that’s life, isn’t it? You don’t always get what you want.

After chopping down another batch of logs, I roll them in the back of the farm’s pickup.

Bend. Lift up. Throw in the cab. Repeat.

And don’t you dare think about the fact that you’ll be sleeping alone in your bed yet again tonight, or the fact that you’ll never see her or hear her soft laughter again.

Once all the logs have been loaded, I hop in the truck and drive it the short way home. We’re about to run out of fuel for the wood stove. Parking in front of the house, I pick up a batch in my arms and bring them inside.

“Aaron?” Ma calls from the kitchen the moment I step inside.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you still working?” she says as she steps in my way. Looking up to the grandfather clock next to us, I see it’s almost 9:00 p.m.

“Hadn’t noticed the sun set so long ago.” Winter has this way of messing up your inner schedule. A broken heart can do that too.

I continue my walk toward the stove, but Ma follows me. After dropping the logs in the trunk next to it, I turn to find her there, watching me.

“What?” I ask cautiously.

“No estàs feliz.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but a fact. As if she knows I haven’t been happy.

I don’t answer. I can’t. Not if it means I need to talk to her about Wren. She thankfully hasn’t brought it up in the past week, and I don’t need her to start now. Anyway, she’s for sure aware whatever had started is now over. I don’t pride myself in being that good of an actor.

To my silence, she sighs and says, “Come on.”

“What? Where?”

“Your father has been trying to speak with you for weeks, but I think now it’s more important than ever that you hear what he has to say,” she says in Spanish.

She makes no sense. However, before I can ask her to explain herself, she starts toward their bedroom, forcing me to follow her.