UNBROKEN PROMISE

~18~ Sayin' Sorry

Author's Note

Hey everyone, I’m back!

I know, it hasn’t even been three weeks yet 😅, but I’ve been writing a lot of chapters lately, and thankfully, schoolwork hasn’t been too overwhelming. Plus, your love and support have kept me motivated—thank you so much for that! ❤️🙏🏽

When I first started writing this novel, I was so nervous about publishing it, but looking back now, I can see how far I’ve come, and it’s all thanks to you guys. Your encouragement means the world to me! ☺️

Today, I’ve decided to drop two new chapters for you. I hope you enjoy them! Don’t forget to comment and vote—it really helps me stay inspired. And if you have any ideas or suggestions, please share them in the comments. I think I might be nearing writer’s block (yes, I’m running out of ideas 😭), so your input would be a lifesaver!

Thank you again for everything—you all are amazing! ❤️

Love,
[Pen girl]
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The house was quiet by the time Logan returned, the soft creak of the front door the only sound as he stepped inside. The kitchen was clean, the faint scent of stew lingering in the air, and the oil lamp on the counter had been turned down low, casting the room in a dim, golden glow. He set his hat on the hook by the door and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet sigh. He wasn’t sure what he’d find when he got back, but he hadn’t expected the heavy sense of guilt sitting on his chest.

He’d made a fool of himself at the main house, letting Mama Becca’s sharp words and Megan’s teasing get under his skin. And they’d been right. He shouldn’t have left Oma to eat alone. It wasn’t fair to her, especially after everything she’d been through—especially after the promises he’d made to her father. He was supposed to look after her, not make her feel more isolated than she already did.

The lamp in the hallway near her room was still lit, casting a soft glow on the wooden floor. He paused outside her door, hesitating for a moment before lifting his hand and rapping his knuckles lightly against the frame.

There was a rustle of movement inside, and after a few moments, the door cracked open. Oma stood there, her delicate frame wrapped in a shawl, her nightgown brushing against her ankles. Her hair was in neat cornrows, long and glistening under the soft light, and her green eyes blinked up at him with quiet curiosity. She looked so young, so vulnerable, standing there like that, and it only made the weight in his chest heavier.

“Evenin’,” he said, his voice low but steady. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. “I, uh… I just wanted t’make sure you were alright before I turned in.”

She tilted her head slightly, her brows furrowing as if she didn’t quite understand why he’d come to check on her. “I’m fine,” she said softly, her voice carrying that crispness that always set her apart from everyone else in town. “But thank you for checking.”

Logan nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He glanced down the hallway for a moment, his gaze lingering on the faint flicker of the lamp. He wasn’t good at this—at talking, at explaining himself. But he felt like he ought to say something more, though the words wouldn’t quite come.

“If there’s… if there’s anythin’ you need,” he said finally, his voice gruff, “just knock on my door, alright? Don’t matter how late it is.”

Oma nodded, her eyes lowering to the floor. “Alright.”

He hesitated again, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Part of him wanted to apologize for leaving her to eat alone, but the words felt heavy in his throat. He’d never been good at admitting when he was wrong, and somehow, with her, it felt even harder. She didn’t look angry, didn’t even look upset—just quiet, like always. But that made it worse, in a way.