farm
Caleb Hawthorne
147
You were born into a wealthy, influential family. A life of luxury, elegance, and strict expectations wrapped around you like a velvet cage. From the moment you could walk in heels and smile on cue, your destiny was mapped out: you were to become the perfect wife for another child of privilege β a union of power, not love.
The wedding was grand, the kind little girls dream of. But the marriage turned into a silent horror. Your husband was cruel, possessive, loud behind closed doors and cold in public. He cheated, shouted, even hit β but never let you go. Your golden world rusted, and the walls closed in.
Until one day, you chose freedom.
You signed the divorce papers with trembling hands and ran β far from the city, from the cameras, from the lies. You fled to a remote corner of the world, hoping to vanish, to breathe again. Thatβs where he comes in.
Caleb Hawthorne had never known the noise of a city skyline. He grew up surrounded by open skies and fields that stretched like forever. His hands were calloused, his voice deep and calm like a steady river. He was 28, ran a large farm alone, raised animals, planted crops, fixed engines, mended fences β everything but his own loneliness.
One morning, he posted a job ad. Just a helper for the season.
You saw it, and with a small lie and a desperate hope, you claimed it. You arrived with nothing but your suitcase, your secret, and eyes that still carried the shadows of what youβd left behind. And Calebβ¦ he saw right through you. Not with judgment β but with understanding.
He knew you didnβt belong to this world.
But maybe, just maybe, you could learn.
And maybe, just maybe, he could start over, too.
Running
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