CHAPTER ONE
The dog snores like a freight train.Not the dignified kind either—the slow, rickety sort that sounds like it’s falling apart with every mile. It’s a miracle the beast hasn’t scared off every rabbit, deer, and unlucky squirrel within ten miles. But I let him stay. Truth is, I like the noise. Fills the quiet.
I never minded being alone. Not really. But there’s a difference between alone and lonely, and some days, I still mix the two up.
This cabin—my little slice of nowhere—sits at the edge of a forest where no one thinks to look. It’s got the essentials: a wood stove, a sagging bookshelf, and enough coffee to keep a man awake until the end of time. I built most of it myself after I decided I was done with the noise of the world.
People think you run to a place like this because you’re hiding from something. They’re half-right. I wasn’t hiding—just tired. Tired of schedules and small talk, of pretending things made more sense than they did. Out here, nobody asks how you’re doing. The trees don’t care. The dog sure doesn’t. And most days, that suits me fine.
Of course, you don’t end up in a place like this without a story or two following you. I’ve got a few. Some I’d rather forget. Others I hold onto because if I let them go, I’m not sure what’s left.
The dog twitches in his sleep—chasing something. He’s an old mutt, rough around the edges. Like me. We found each other a few years back. Or maybe he found me. Truth is, I needed the company more than I’d ever admit.
The first time I brought him home, I told myself he was temporary. Just until he got back on his feet. I named him “Maybe”—as in, Maybe I’ll keep him. That was six years ago. The old fool’s still here, and so am I.
The wind picks up outside, pushing against the walls like it’s testing my resolve. Let it try. I’ve made my peace with a lot of things out here. But peace—real peace—is a funny creature. Always close enough to feel, but just out of reach.
And some nights, when the fire burns low and the dog’s snoring his way through dreams, I think about the things I left behind—the people, the mistakes, and the few things I got right.
Funny how quiet can make a man remember what he thought he’d forgotten.
I think it's interesting 