Chapter 2

The barn had always been Queenie Weston's sanctuary, a place where the weight of the world couldn't quite reach her. 

The scent of sun-warmed hay mingled with the faint, sharp tang of old wood and manure, and the faint rustle of barn swallows darting between the rafters was a melody she had grown up with. It was a humble space, with uneven planks and rusted tools lining the walls, but it held her secrets better than anything else on the farm.

Here, she could cry without anyone seeing. Without anyone knowing.

Q sat hunched over a battered crate she had claimed as a desk. The wood was rough under her arms, splintering in places, but she hardly noticed. In her hand, an old fountain pen scratched against the thin, crinkled paper. She paused, pressing the pen to her lips, before the words spilled out again in uneven lines.

Dear Maddy…

The ink blurred as her tears welled up again, hot and relentless. She swiped at them with the back of her hand, leaving smudges of dirt across her cheeks. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting the words out, even if they never made it past the confines of the barn.

"Get a grip, Q," she muttered under her breath, sniffing loudly. "She hasn't even left yet."

But her chest ached anyway, a tightness that refused to let go. 

She pressed the pen harder against the paper, the nib catching on the fibers as she wrote.

Today's the sixth day since you told me. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn't. I know you think this is for the best, but it doesn't feel that way for me. It feels like I'm losing my other half. Like I'm losing… you.

The ink pooled at the end of the sentence, spreading in uneven streaks like a bruise. Q's fingers trembled as she pushed the letter aside, her breath coming shallow and uneven. She glanced at the small pile beside her, seven letters now, each one carefully folded and tied together with a fraying piece of twine.

She had promised herself she would write one letter for every day Maddy was gone. 

Three hundred sixty-five letters, a year's worth of thoughts and feelings and memories. She didn't know if Maddy would ever read them. She wasn't even sure Maddy would care. But the act of writing felt like the only way to hold onto her best friend, even as the days slipped through her fingers like water.

"Queenie!"

Her mother's voice cut through the barn, sharp and unmistakable. Q jolted, nearly knocking over the ink bottle. She scrambled to gather the letters, stuffing them into the pocket of her apron as heavy footsteps neared the door.

"Queenie, are you hiding in that barn again?"

"I'm coming!" Q called back, though her voice wavered. She kicked the crate back into place, brushing hay from her skirt in a feeble attempt to look busy.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes narrowing. 

"You've got time to sulk and scribble nonsense, but not to feed the chickens? They're half-starved, girl."

Q stood, wiping her hands on her apron as though that might wipe away the evidence of her tears. 

"I was just taking a break."

"Breaks don't fill the larder or patch the roof," her mother snapped, her voice edged with the exhaustion of years spent working land that never gave enough in return. "That Carlton girl of yours isn't going to send us money from her fancy school, you know. Get your head out of the clouds and your feet back in the dirt."

"Yes, ma."

Her mother lingered a moment longer, her gaze searching Q's face, before turning and stalking off toward the house. The screen door banged shut behind her, the sound startling the barn swallows into flight. Q let out a shaky breath and slipped out the side door, her feet carrying her toward the apple grove without thinking.

The grove was her second hiding spot, a patch of shade where the air smelled sweet and the ground was soft with fallen leaves. She sank to her knees beneath the largest tree, pulling the unfinished letter from her pocket and staring at the ink-stained paper. For a moment, her hands hovered uselessly over the words, the enormity of what she wanted to say swallowing her whole.

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the farm in shades of amber and rose, Q had written three more letters. She folded them neatly, tying them with the others before tucking the bundle safely into her pocket. Tomorrow, she decided, she would take them to Maddy herself. She had to.

The next morning, Q stood at the gates of the Carlton estate, her bundle of letters clutched tightly in her hands. 

The iron bars gleamed in the soft morning light, curling into intricate designs that seemed to mock her with their elegance. Beyond the gates, the courtyard stretched out in perfect symmetry, vibrant flower beds, neatly trimmed hedges, and the white stone path leading to the sprawling house.

Q hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't sure what she would say. Maybe she would hand over the letters and run before the lump in her throat could spill into tears. Or maybe she would stay, hugging Maddy one last time and telling her everything she hadn't been able to put into words.

Gathering her courage, she knocked on the heavy oak door. It swung open to reveal one of the Carlton maids, her crisp uniform and stern expression a sharp contrast to Q's dirt-streaked hands and patched skirt.

"Miss Weston?"

Q cleared her throat, holding up the letters like a peace offering. "I—I'm here to see Maddy. I've got something for her."

The maid's expression softened, a flicker of pity crossing her face. 

"I'm afraid you've just missed her, dear. Miss Carlton left this morning for RAPS."

Q's breath hitched, her grip on the letters slackening. "She's… gone?"

The maid nodded, her hands folding neatly in front of her. 

"She wanted to say goodbye, but her departure was quite rushed. The carriage came earlier than expected."

The words hit Q like a blow, her world tilting as she fought to steady herself. She hadn't even said goodbye.

The maid hesitated, then added gently, "She did leave a message for you. She said to remember that you'll always be her dearest friend, no matter the distance."

The words were meant to soothe, but they only deepened the ache in Q's chest. 

She nodded stiffly, turning away before the maid could say anything more.

The letters felt heavy in her hands as she walked back down the path, the grand estate shrinking behind her. Maddy was gone, and Q hadn't even had the chance to tell her everything she had written, to tell her how much it hurt to let go.

Three hundred sixty-five letters. And now, she would never know if Maddy would even see them.