UNBROKEN PROMISE

~67~ Regret Marryin' Her

The days passed in a blur of cold winds and quiet silences. After her conversation with Mama Becca and Megan, Oma had felt a little lighter, as if speaking her worries aloud had loosened the tight knot in her chest.

But that relief had been short lived. Logan was still as distant as ever, and despite sharing the same house, they felt miles apart.

Winter had come swiftly and harshly, blanketing the land in thick layers of snow. The once vibrant ranch, filled with the sounds of harvest and chatter, had quieted under the weight of the cold. Most days, the ranch hands kept to the barns, tending to the livestock and ensuring the horses were well-fed and warm.

Oma, for her part, spent most of her time indoors. The bitter chill made it difficult to do much outside, and the icy winds cut straight through the layers of wool she bundled herself in. She didn't go up to the main house as often as she used to not because she didn't want to, but because the trek through the snow was exhausting, and she didn't want to be a bother to anyone.

Instead, she settled into a routine within their home. She would wake before dawn, light the fire in the hearth, and prepare breakfast. Most mornings, Logan would already be up, coming in from the barn with his coat dusted in snow, his nose and cheeks red from the cold. He'd sit at the table while she served the food, mumbling a gruff "Mornin'" before eating in silence.

Their meals had become a strange sort of  silent ritual. He never left without eating, and she never let the fire go out before he came in. It was as if they had an unspoken agreement to acknowledge each other without actually speaking.

At first, Oma had tried to break the silence. She would ask him small things how the horses were doing, whether he needed anything from the main house, if he wanted her to mend anything. But Logan never said much beyond a short answer, and after a while, she stopped trying.

It wasn't that he was cruel. He never snapped at her, never raised his voice. But he was distant, locked in his own thoughts, carrying something she couldn't reach.

And that hurt more than anything.

But worse than Logan's silence was the return of her nightmares.

They had come back with a vengeance, haunting her nearly every night. The old ones, the ones of her father, still plagued her, but something had shifted. Now, Logan had begun to appear in them. A Logan who loomed over her, his face shadowed and unreadable, his voice cold.

Some nights, she woke up gasping, drenched in sweat despite the freezing air. Other nights, she barely slept at all, too afraid to close her eyes. She would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince herself it wasn't real, that Logan wasn't turning into something she should fear. But the dreams messed with her, making it harder to face him each day.

And the worst part? He didn't even seem to notice.

At night, she would hear him moving around in his room, sometimes pacing, sometimes just shifting in bed. And though she wanted to knock on his door, to ask him what was wrong, she never did.

One particularly harsh evening, the wind howled against the walls of their home, rattling the shutters and making the fire flicker wildly. Oma had just finished setting out supper when Logan walked in, brushing snow from his hair. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever.

She wanted to say something, to ask him how his day had been. But instead, she simply gestured toward the table.

"Food's ready," she said quietly.

Logan nodded, hanging up his coat and washing his hands before sitting down. The stew she had made filled the room with warmth, and for a moment, the house felt less cold.