Valora straightened as best she could, shame and fear wrestling inside her. “I should leave,” she said. “I’ve put you in danger.”
Thorly stepped between her and the door like a stubborn fact. “And go where?”
“Anywhere else.”
“You won’t survive the night,” he said. “And I won’t throw you back into the cold.”
“Why?” Valora’s voice broke. “Why fight for me?”
Thorly’s eyes held hers, steady as timber. “Because I know what it looks like,” he said quietly, “when fear decides a woman’s fate.”
Valora sank into the chair, exhausted. Her throat tightened. “My husband died because of them,” she said.
Thorly’s voice softened. “Tell me about him.”
So she did. Slowly, she spoke of Samuel’s kindness, his love for spring, his habit of bringing her wildflowers even when his hands were chapped and his pockets were empty. She spoke of how he believed in her work when others treated it like a curiosity they could use and discard. She spoke of his last night in the barn, the way his fingers squeezed hers once, faintly, as if trying to pass his courage into
