Page 65 of Finding Peace
There’s movement in the distance—one of the guys crossing toward the barn, shoulders broad against the blue sky.
“Just run,” I tell her. “Get out and stay out. Build something that’s all yours.”
Just like I’m trying to do.
“Find peace, Katerina.”
“I never meant to leave you alone. You deserved better than the mess everyone made for you.” Her words are soft and true, so much like the sister I remember.
When I don’t say anything, she says, “I have a plan.” I can practically hear the small smile on her face.
“I would expect nothing less.” I press my lips together, fighting the sting behind my eyes, because Iknowdeep in my bones that this might be the last time I talk to my sister for a long,longtime. But at least this time, I have the chance to say goodbye. “Ya lyublyu tebya, Katerina.”
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, Anya.”
And just like that, the line goes quiet.
I lower the phone slowly. The music resumes in the background, and the song has changed to something from Chris Stapleton—the tune feels bold and defiant. It’s oddly fitting.
I turn the volume down and look around me.
I can’t explain it, but the house feels bigger now. Quieter.
My sister is alive.
She’s safe.
But she’s gone.
Some goodbyes don’t feel like explosions. Some feel like the melting snow—slow and quiet and gentle.
And as much as I hate it, maybe that’s where our story ends.
For now, at least.
Outside, the sun climbs higher, bright against the Montana sky. The snow keeps melting from the tin roof in slow, steady drips.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Everything ischanging.
Everything.
I reach for my coffee again, out of habit, take another sip, and grimace.
Bleh.
I dump it in the sink and start fresh, determined to keep finding peace of my own.
Chapter twenty
Lincoln
ThefirstthingInotice when I walk into the kitchen is the roses—deep red in full bloom, overflowing from what looks like a brand-new vase.
