One February night, they sat by fire.
Elena read article about women’s suffrage debate in territory.
Caleb interrupted.
“Would you vote?”
“Yes.”
“For who?”
“Not you.”
He looked offended.
“I’m not candidate.”
“Exactly.”
He smiled.
She continued reading.
Later silence.
Caleb carved a spoon.
Elena sewed.
Then she asked:
“Did you ever want wife?”
His knife stopped.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“No one specific.”
“When?”
“Before Sarah died.”
“What changed?”
“She was family.”
“After, cabin felt…”
He searched.
“Too quiet.”
Elena looked around.
“Still quiet.”
“No.”
Their eyes met.
Something warmed.
She returned sewing.
“Do you regret marriage?”
Caleb answered:
“No.”
Too quickly.
Her heart jumped.
He looked at her.
“Do you?”
Elena thought.
“I regret not choosing it.”
“That’s not same.”
“No.”
Fire cracked.
Caleb set spoon down.
“If court clears everything, Avery says annulment simpler.”
Elena’s needle stopped.
“Yes.”
“I’ll sign.”
She felt hurt.
Ridiculous.
He was respecting.
Still hurt.
Caleb saw.
“I mean if you want.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Elena looked at him.
“I don't know.”
“Then no rush.”
She hated that answer because it was perfect.
“Caleb.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want annulment?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
Her pulse rose.
“Then why do you keep offering?”
“Because wanting you is not reason to trap you.”
There it was.
She set sewing down.
“What do you want?”
He looked at her as though she had aimed weapon.
“Elena.”
“I asked.”
He swallowed.
“You.”
The word barely louder than fire.
Her cheeks flushed.
He continued before losing courage.
“I want mornings.”
“Your arguing.”
“Books.”
“You taking over kitchen.”
“You telling me accounts are disgrace.”
“They are.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
“I want you here.”
“Not because deed.”
“Not because Sarah.”
“Not because marriage certificate.”
“Because cabin feels…”
He struggled.
“Alive.”
Elena’s eyes stung.
Nobody had described space with her in it as alive.
Usually crowded.
Full.
Too much.
She whispered: