Husband abandoned his disabled wife in the forest, unaware that a mysterious man was watching everything
“I know you can,” he replied, unfazed. “But not on this terrain.”
That was true. Her wheels caught again almost immediately. Without asking, Chris lifted her easily, carefully, as if she weighed nothing. “I’ll come back for the chair,” he said, already walking. “Right now, we need to get you warm.”
She couldn’t argue, could barely breathe. His jacket smelled of wood smoke and pine. His arms were steady, strong. He moved with the confidence of someone who had carried others before—not her specifically, but people in need.
“I didn’t know you were back,” she said finally.
“Three months now. Moved into the old Peterson place.”
“I thought you were in Nevada, still with the state troopers.”
“Nope,” he said flatly. “Retired early. That’s a story for another day.”
They broke through the trees onto a narrow, rocky trail. His battered gray Ford pickup was parked under a cluster of pines. He opened the passenger door with one hand and gently set her inside.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, then vanished into the woods again.
Emma sat in stunned silence. Her body ached, nerves buzzing. Her mind struggled to process what had just happened—what had almost happened.
Ten minutes later, Chris returned, pushing her wheelchair, its wheels caked with mud. He tossed it into the truck bed, climbed in, and started the engine. The heater groaned to life, filling the cab with warmth. Neither spoke as he navigated the trail, driving with the ease of someone who knew every turn.
“I don’t understand why he did it,” Emma said at last, staring out the window.
“I do,” Chris replied simply.
She turned to him, surprised.
“I’ve seen guys like him before,” he continued. “Men who seem strong on the outside but are fragile inside. When life changes, when the woman they love becomes someone they have to adapt to, they crumble because their love was only built for convenience.”
Emma blinked. “That’s a bit generous, calling it love.”
“Fair point.”
The silence grew heavier. He drove without GPS, turning onto a dirt road that climbed through a thick grove. At the top stood a modest A-frame cabin, wood-paneled, with smoke curling from the chimney.
“You live here?” she asked.
“Yeah, fixed it up myself. You’ll be safe here.”
“Safe?” The word hit her like a stone through glass.
He parked, stepped out, and carried her inside without asking. She wanted to protest but was too exhausted. The moment they entered, the scent of cedar and burning pine wrapped around her. The cabin was small but clean, warm, and practical—lived-in but not cluttered.
Chris set her down gently on a wide couch by the fire, then disappeared into the kitchen. She heard water boiling, cabinets opening.
“Tea or coffee?” he called.
“Tea,” she managed.
He returned with a mug and handed it to her without a word. She took it with trembling hands. Steam rose between them. Chris sat across from her, elbows on his knees, watching her carefully.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I mean, what now? Call the police? Tell them what? That my husband tried to abandon me in the woods?”
His expression didn’t change. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
The fire crackled softly in the stone hearth, casting flickering amber light across the room. Emma sat curled under a heavy-knit blanket, her tea now lukewarm in her lap. Her fingers rested on the handle, but she hadn’t sipped it in a while. She couldn’t stop staring into the flames.
“Need anything?” Chris’s voice came from the kitchen, low and calm.
Emma shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”
He walked back into the room carrying a small plate with crackers and sliced apples. He placed it on the coffee table in front of her and sat down again across from her, his posture relaxed but alert, the way someone trained to read people always sat.
She glanced at him. “You don’t have to babysit me,” she said, attempting a smile. “I’m not going to throw myself back into the woods.”
Chris’s expression didn’t flinch. “I know. I just don’t like leaving people alone after they’ve been in shock.”
“Is that from your training?”
He nodded. “Partly. The rest comes from personal mistakes.”
Emma didn’t ask what he meant. Not yet. There was enough weight between them already.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked instead, scanning the room.
“A few months. Bought the place after I left the department.”
“Left or got pushed?”
That made him grin—the first real smile she’d seen from him since he appeared like a ghost in the woods. “You always did cut through the small talk.”
She shrugged. “Some of us don’t have time for polite fiction anymore.”
He looked at her, something soft in his eyes. “I left officially. Early retirement—burnout, injury, a mix of things.”
“You hurt?”
“Not the kind that shows up on X-rays.”
She nodded slowly. That kind of pain, she understood intimately.
There was a long pause. Only the fire moved between them.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Emma finally said.
Chris looked up. “Yeah. Well, small town, big trees.”
She let out a small laugh. It surprised her.
“You look good,” he added after a beat. “Different, but still you.”…
