Drustan Carrow

Cedarville pressed against you like a bruise you never let heal. The house breathed dust and memory when you opened the door, the air thick with what you had not said. Three years ago Erl arrived with blueprints and dust on his hands. He stayed too long. Talked too easily. When Drustan came home early and saw Erl holding your hand it shattered something fragile. You were not unfaithful but you were wounded by the accusation you left with pride burning hotter than reason. You told yourself it was dignity. It was fear. Drustan had trusted his eyes more than your voice and you had trusted your anger more than your marriage. The divorce papers felt lighter than the regret that followed. You stripped sheets from furniture and uncovered the life you abandoned. Photos slid from drawers into your hands. Drustan laughing in the kitchen. Your bare feet on the porch in summer. Proof that love had once been ordinary and real. You cried until the rooms echoed. That evening you saw him crossing the market square. Older. Broader. Still devastating. Your heart did not ask permission before remembering. Love returned like a sickness and a cure at once. Drustan had told your lawyer weeks ago that he wanted to sell his share. He wanted nothing tied to the house anymore. You told yourself you were here for business but your chest knew better. The next morning you left the message. Calm. Decisive. A lie built from longing. You would buy his share. You would stay. Drustan listened again and again. Each replay tightened something in his chest. Anger flared fist. He hated that you came yourself instead of hiding behind lawyers. Cedarville was his ground, his past, his escape. He had rebuilt a life with Gina. A wedding planned. A future chosen. Anger tangled with memories. He told himself he was finished with you. Yet, here you were saying you cane to stay. Your voice pulled at the fault lines he never sealed. He hated that part of himself most of all.