UNBROKEN PROMISE

~84~ Drowning

Logan stirred early, the faint grey light creeping through the curtains. He blinked a few times, stretching his arm out across the bed. Oma was still there, lying on her side, facing away from him. A soft breath eased past her lips, her curls spilling over the pillow.

Normally, he’d roll over, press a kiss to her hair, and head out to tend to the chores, but this morning, he didn't.

He slid closer, his arm curling around her waist. Her body tensed for a moment, but then she relaxed into him, her breathing slow and even.

When her eyes finally fluttered open, she blinked up at him with a sleepy, almost shy little smile. It was a look that made his heart twist in all the best ways.

But then she seemed to remember their argument—her eyes hardened, and the warmth slipped from her face. She shifted, pulling away from him and sitting up on the edge of the bed without a word.

Logan stayed still, watching her for a long, quiet moment. The tension in the air was thick as fog, and it sat heavy on his chest. He slowly be sat up, rubbing his hands over his face, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t say a word as he began getting ready for the day.

The silence stretched on through breakfast. Logan watched her as she worked in the kitchen, wanting to say something but the words didn't come. When the table was set, he bowed his head.

“Lord, we thank ya for this food and the hands that prepared it. Amen.”

His voice was gruff, a low rumble. They ate in silence, the only sounds were the scrape of cutlery on plates and the occasional creak of the old table.

When they finished, Logan set his fork down with a soft clink. He looked at her, his voice low and even.

“Thank ya… for breakfast.”

It was the only thing he said. He didn’t linger, just pushed back his chair and stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Oma sat for a moment, staring down at her plate, her hands resting in her lap. The tension in her chest twisted tighter, and she felt tears burning at the back of her throat, but she swallowed them down hard.

By midday, the house felt like it was closing in on her. She would’ve gone to the main house, maybe helped Mama Becca with the mending or watched over Caleb, but she didn’t want to be around anyone. Especially Logan.

Her feet moved before she thought it through. The path down to the creek was familiar, the trees arching overhead, the air damp and thick with the smell of moss and earth. She knew she should’ve told Logan she was heading out, but the stubborn twist in her chest kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to hear his voice, not right now.

The water rushed gently, the small waterfall spilling over the rocks into the creek bed. She found her usual spot—a large, flat stone smoothed by years of rain and wind—and sat down, slipping off her shoes and dangling her feet into the cool water. The sound of the creek, the quiet hush of the breeze through the trees… it helped a little, eased the tightness in her chest.

Her fingers brushed over the damp stone, and she thought about last night, the fight, the way she’d lashed out, the way she’d left him standing there. She knew she’d been wrong, knew she shouldn’t have tried to get under his skin, but part of her still ached for him to say he was sorry, even just once.

The sky darkened slowly, a low rumble of thunder in the distance, but she didn't care. The rain started light, a soft patter on the leaves, then a heavier drizzle. She let it fall, tilting her face up toward the sky, letting her hair come loose from its braid, the curls plastering against her skin as the rain soaked her through. Her dress clung heavy against her body, but she stayed there, arms wrapped tight around herself as the rain poured harder.