"I didn't lose them," I say. "They'll come around."
She shakes her head. "You don't believe that."
I want to lie. I can't. "Not tonight."
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin. "You shouldn't have to choose between them and me."
"I already did," I say, and it comes out rough.
Her breath catches. "Asher—"
Before I can stop myself, I reach for her. My hands find her waist and pull her in as if she belongs there, because God help me, she does. She fits against me as though she’s been here forever, and every bit of noise and the hurt and the anger outside this room fades to nothing.
Her hands come up to my chest, and for one long heartbeat, we stand there breathing the same air.
Then she looks up at me, her voice breaking. "We can't do this. Not like this."
"Yes, we can," I say, but even as I say it, I know she's right.
She shakes her head. "You think you're protecting me, but all you're doing is losing everything else that matters to you. I won't let you."
"You don't get to decide that."
Her eyes fill again, but her voice is steady. "You're the best man I've ever known. You fight for what's right, even when it costs you. But I can't be the reason you lose your family."
"You're not—"
"I am," she says, cutting me off. "You love them. They're your home. And you can't fix this while I'm standing here reminding them why they're angry."
I shake my head, desperate. "Kassi, please. Don't do this."
She reaches up and touches my face, her fingers trembling. "You told me once I was brave for telling the truth. This is me doing the same."
"Kassi—"
Her hand drops, and her voice is barely above a whisper. "I love you, Asher. But I can't stay."
She loves me? She tells me she loves me as she is walking away. The words tear something open in me I didn't know could still bleed.
She turns toward the door. I move to stop her, but she shakes her head. "If I stay, they'll never forgive you. If I go, maybe they will."
I don't have words left.
She walks out into the fading light, her figure small against the vastness of the land she helped me save. The screen door creaks shut behind her, and the sound is too soft for the way it feels—something breaking clean through.
I stand there, staring after her until her car disappears down the lane, the dust hanging in the air long after she's gone.
The silence that follows is heavy and absolute.
I sink into the chair at the table, the folder of evidence still lying there. The edge of her scarf brushes against my hand. I pick it up and press it to my face, the faint scent of her still clinging to the fabric.
I think about her words. About how she looked at me when she said I love you.
It should have felt like victory. Instead, it feels like defeat.
Outside, the wind moves through the grass, whispering.
I look toward the window where the horizon bleeds orange and gold, and for the first time in a long time, I don't see my land. I see her—driving away, fighting tears, doing the one thing I can't bring myself to do.