My heart twists guiltily at her words. The kid’s been attached to me from day one. But it’s only lately that I’ve realized how big an issue that is.
I was never meant to stay here.
The process of healing had been a long one. Longer than I’d first assumed.
It took almost five full months before my body stopped hurting so much.
After that, it was re-training myself. Building up strength and muscle again. I had to re-learn shit that had always been second nature to me.
It wasn’t fucking fun. And I’m still a long way from whole.
But Diego and Carla have made it easier.
About seven months in, I started thinking about saying my goodbyes. Heading back to my own life.
I’d been with them way too fucking long already.
And then the winter accident happened.
It was a combination of things, just a perfect storm of terrible luck. A thunderstorm raging for almost three nights, a deteriorating rafter beam in the barn, and Diego’s stubborn insistence that he didn’t need help fixing it.
I’d been in the main house with Carla when the barn roof collapsed during the worst of the rain and lightning.
It had collapsed right on top of Diego while he was in there trying to calm the horses.
I’d managed to get him out of there, but his injuries were bad.
Not nearly as bad as what Budimir had left me with, of course. But bad enough that it would’ve been a death sentence for him and Carla alike if I wasn’t around to intervene.
After everything they’d done for me, it seemed like poor repayment to just turn my back on them and leave when they needed me most.
So I stayed.
I told myself it would only be a few extra days.
But days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into five more months.
And now, before I know it, it’s been a full year since Gaspar discovered me on death’s doorstep.
There are some days I actually enjoy this life. The simplicity of it. Working with the sun, sleeping with the moon, toiling in the earth with my own two hands.
It keeps my mind off things.
Off the past. Off Artem and Esme. Off everything I’ve ever left behind.
But that’s not the point.
The point is that this isn’t my real life.
My real life is out there somewhere. Waiting for me.
Now, I just need to figure out why I’ve been so fucking reluctant to get back to it.
“Finished with the roof?” Diego asks as our paths intersect.
“Nearly. One more day should do it.”
He claps me on the shoulder and nods, satisfied.