THE WEIGHT OF DREAMS, Cole Walter ✓

05| TRUST ME

CHARIS WASN'T SURE WHAT THE DAY HELD FOR HER. Uncharacteristically, she found herself helping her father in the garden, earning strange looks from him as it was the first time she had done so since the garden was built.

Upon waking, she thought she would find it calming, after all, it's what her mother used to do when she wanted peace and quiet. It was her little getaway just a few feet away from the chaos. After her death, it's what Aster started trying out and after his death, it's what Austin Duncan did.

Lost in thought, Charis was twisting barbed wire into its previous state, adjacent to the stables where her horse Malory used to reside. She hadn't ventured inside since the incident. Her father would often go there to tend to equipment and take care of things.

Engrossed in her task, Charis accidentally cut herself on the finger. Wincing, she sucked on the blood and wiped it on her riding vest. Giving a longing look towards the stables, she straightened her back, finishing the wire work. She contemplated going inside for a closer look.

Glancing back at the house, she rounded the wires to the small gates and cautiously approached. Gripping the metal rod that served as a lock, she turned it, allowing the door to creak open. Shivering, not from the cold but from the adrenaline of memories, she took a step inside.

Inside were two stables, though only one horse used to occupy them. Charis recalled the days when they would help others by providing space for their horses. The loving and helpful Duncan family – that's how they used to be remembered. Now, memories of good times were overshadowed by pity and the bad. Living outside the city gave people a convenient excuse to forget about them.

Heading towards Malory's stable, Charis found everything still hung as if the horse were still there. The reins, the saddle, the brushes – all remnants of a time when Malory would neigh at the sight of Charis. But she wasn't there anymore, and Charis blamed herself.

Interrupting her thoughts, her father's voice spoke up. Startled, she wiped away oncoming tears and turned around.

"I've been thinking lately," her father began, treading carefully with his words, trying to find a way to break the news to Charis.

"We could get a new horse, maybe a foal. You could raise it," he suggested. The suggestion stabbed at her heart. Why couldn't he just shoot her instead?

"A foal, and have it taken away from me again?" Charis responded quietly, the weight of sorrow evident in her voice.

"What happened—" her father began, wanting to reassure her that it would never happen again, but he couldn't make that promise.

"Don't tell me what happened, okay? You weren't there," Charis cut him off, her voice cracking.

"I wish I had been there," he admitted sincerely, a pained expression on his face.

"This could be good for you. You don't do anything anymore. You don't hang out with friends, you don't paint, you don't sleep, you don't ride," he observed, trying to gently push her towards healing.

"How am I supposed to ever get back on a horse again?" Charis croaked, walking out of the stables, regretting her decision to step inside.

Where could she go now? She couldn't drive, saddle up and ride away, walk for miles, or even go with her sister, who would likely confront her the moment she stepped through the back door.

Ignoring her sister's repeated attempts to talk, Charis closed the bedroom door behind her. Changing out of her garden clothes into jeans and a half-zip fleece sweater, she opened the door again. Marilyn jumped into the conversation, but Charis didn't hear a thing.