The gravel crunched beneath the tires as we pulled up to the cabin, a modest little A-frame tucked into the trees like it had been waiting just for us. Wooden beams, soft shadows, a porch with two empty rocking chairs. The kind of place that whispered quietly. That promised air unbothered by anything louder than wind and birdsong.
Chris cut the engine and let his hand rest on the gear for a moment. We didn't speak.
We just listened.
To the stillness, to the rustle of pine branches above, to the way our hearts beat slower the longer we sat there.
Then he looked at me and smiled.
I smiled back.
It felt like we were trying to shake something off. A weight that hadn't fully lifted yet, but loosened just enough to let us breathe again.
