Bloody Mary // J. Hale

Come back to me

She stared into the distance, past their fields where horses grazed, and down the winding path flanked on either side by towering oak trees. It was well past midnight, but every night found her on the porch of their ranch, waiting for him to return. The sky was clear, the moon casting its silver glow across the landscape. Her freckles, scattered like constellations, stood out against her pale ivory skin. It didn't matter how many nights had already slipped by—she stayed, clinging to the fragile hope that he might still come back to her.

"Munchkin, please come inside," her father said gently, leaning against the door frame, watching her with a weary expression.

"Just a moment, Daddy," she replied, her gaze fixed firmly on the path.

He sighed, the weight of his words pressing heavily against the night. "He's not coming back, Jules."

"You don't know that!" she protested, her voice trembling with stubborn hope. "He promised..."

Her father's frown deepened as he looked at her, his heart aching. Days had passed since the storm took him, but still, she waited. Every night, she sat there, unwavering, until exhaustion forced her eyes closed and she retreated to her room—always in the same clothes, to tired to change into her nightgown.

But no matter what her father said, he knew she would be there again tomorrow. Waiting.

"Alright... But don't stay out to long."

Time slipped by, yet she remained seated. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the chill of the night crept into her fingers. Her eyes wandered over the ranch, taking in the familiar sights. The horses huddled together—some grazing lazily on the damp grass, others standing still in quiet rest. The storm-battered fences had been rebuilt, the fresh wood stark and unpainted against the worn surroundings. The once-deep mud pools in the fields had finally dried, leaving only faint scars of the storm's wrath. Yet, despite the restoration, the ranch didn't feel like home anymore. Not without him.

She thought back to that day. He had insisted on going for one last ride, heading to the coast to check if there were still people in need of evacuation. She had begged him to stay, pleaded for him to let someone else go. But he had always been noble—too selfless for his own good. It was no surprise he had risen to become the youngest major in the army. He was the best of them, the kind of man who inspired others to follow. And somehow, impossibly, she was lucky enough to have been his.

But he never returned. Gone, like so many others. Most believed the storm had swept him away, his courage outmatched by the unforgiving elements. Yet she couldn't bring herself to believe it. Something deep within her told her he wasn't gone—not truly.

And so, she waited.

As the hours dragged on, weariness began to take hold. Her body ached, her head heavy with fatigue. With a reluctant sigh, she pushed herself to her feet. Before retreating for the night, she cast one last glance at the full moon, its light bathing the ranch in silvery quiet.

Then, a sudden movement caught her attention. The horses in the field shifted uneasily, their ears twitching and heads snapping toward something unseen. Startled, they stamped their hooves and huddled closer together.

She froze, her heart quickening. Something had stirred in the night. Slowly, she turned back toward the fields, her breath catching in her throat.

Curious but cautious, she moved toward the fence, the chill of the night clinging to her skin. Climbing over it, she approached one of the startled horses, her hands outstretched to soothe it.

"Shhh, calm down, boy," she whispered, her voice low and steady as her hand stroked the horse's quivering side. But her gaze drifted beyond, toward the outskirts of the ranch, where the fence marked the edge of their property. At first, she saw nothing—just the stillness of the forest, the trees swaying gently in the breeze.