After I Left He Finally Cried

After my father passed away, I decided to divide our assets with my husband, Rhys Covington, and return to my hometown of Willow Creek for good.

On the first day, I tricked Rhys into signing the transfer agreement for our shared property.

On the fifth day, I submitted my resignation letter to the community committee.

On the seventh day, I hosted a farewell barbecue with my friends.

At the party, Rhys frowned at the indie folk music I was playing, complaining that his ex-girlfriend, Penelope Croft, wouldn't like it.

I stood, raised my beer bottle, and gave Penelope a distant toast.

In that moment, something between Rhys and me shattered.

Half a month later, I saw Rhys in Willow Creek on what he called a business trip.

Only this time, as the evening breeze swept through the valley, his face was streaked with tears.

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1

Three days after my father's death, Rhys Covington still hadn't shown up.

"Mayor Blackwood, I've made my decision. I'm going to honor my father's last wish and stay here to run the community arts center," I said, my voice steady as I straightened the documents in my hands.

Mayor Silas Blackwood looked taken aback. "Audrey, you've built a whole life for yourself in the city. Why throw it all away to come back to a small town like this?"

I shook my head, my gaze falling to the worn watch on my wrist, the only thing my father had left me. "I'm not afraid. Give me seven days. I'll have all the paperwork sorted."

At seven that evening, I finally returned to our house in Aspen Creek. The dinner on the kitchen island was cold and untouched, exactly as I had left it.

Just as I set down my luggage, I heard footsteps at the door.

Rhys strode in, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a well-tailored charcoal gray suit. His voice was as cool and remote as ever.

"Is there anything to eat? The restaurants are all closed. Can you pack up some of that cream soup Penelope likes? I need to bring it to her. She's been a total mess the last few days, refusing to eat."

I turned, letting him see the exhaustion etched onto my face. "I just got back. I haven't cooked."

Rhys’s brow furrowed, his gaze sliding right past my haggard face without a flicker of concern. He didn’t ask where I’d been, just walked straight to the refrigerator, already focused on his ex-girlfriend's needs.

I stood frozen, watching as he clumsily poured chilled cream of mushroom soup into a pot. In five years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever seen him cook for anyone.

Ever since Penelope Croft broke up with her boyfriend and moved to Aspen Creek, this had become a familiar scene.

Rhys poured the heated soup into a thermos. As he tried to squeeze past me, I stopped him.

"I have to head back home in a few days. Could you sign this? It's an emergency permit for the forestry station—it just needs your signature."

I held out the document—the property transfer agreement I had disguised—and pointed to the signature line.

Rhys barely glanced at it, his attention fixed elsewhere. "Penelope's been having a really rough time, so I haven't been able to get away. Once she's feeling better, I promise I'll go back with you." He scribbled his name.

I lowered my eyes to hide the sting of tears. "Okay."

As we brushed past each other, I caught the faint, cloying scent of gardenia perfume on his suit. I never wore perfume. His ex-girlfriend, however, adored it.

When the front gate clicked shut behind him, I walked stiffly to the kitchen island and carefully folded the signed agreement.

A week ago, Mayor Silas had called. My father had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage while teaching a children's art class. He was being rushed to the hospital.

I'd been frantic, pleading with Rhys. "Can you come home with me? Just this once? My dad, he's—"

Before I could finish, Penelope’s voice cut in from the doorway. "Rhys, hurry up! You promised you’d help me assemble my new IKEA furniture today!"

At the sound of her voice, Rhys's patience evaporated. He shook my hand off his arm and walked out without a backward glance, tossing a single sentence over his shoulder. "I'm busy. Go on ahead. I'll catch up when I can."

And so, I waited. For seven days.