Elias watched her.
"He cared about protecting people."
"Then why didn't he tell me?"
Elias looked toward the window.
"Maybe because he was trying to protect you."
Anna looked away.
She wiped quickly at her eyes before the tears could fall.
Elias pretended not to notice.
He understood pride.
He understood refusing to let people see your wounds.
Because he had spent twenty years doing the same thing.
That evening, the temperature dropped sharply.
The wind pushed against the cabin walls.
Anna sat near the fire repairing an old coat.
Elias repaired a broken saddle strap.
For almost an hour, neither spoke.
But the silence was different now.
Before, silence between them had been uncomfortable.
Now it felt peaceful.
Finally, Anna looked up.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Why do you live alone?"
Elias's hands stopped.
The question was simple.
But the answer carried twenty years of weight.
He stared into the fire.
"Because sometimes being alone is easier than losing someone."
Anna waited.
She did not push.
That was what made it easier to continue.
"My wife was named Mary."
His voice lowered.
"She was better than I deserved."
Anna smiled softly.
"What happened?"
"Winter."
One word.
But it carried everything.
"I was away checking cattle. Storm came early."
He looked at the flames.
"I thought I would be back before it got bad."
"But you weren't."
"No."
The cabin became quiet.
"She died while I was gone."
Anna's expression softened.
"Elias..."
"I spent years thinking if I had been home, things would have been different."
"You don't know that."
"I know."
He looked at her.
"But knowing something and believing it are different."
Anna understood.
Because she had her own regrets.
"My father died thinking he failed me."
Elias looked surprised.
"He didn't."
"I know."
She looked at the fire.
"But I wish I had told him."
"Told him what?"
"That I wasn't afraid of struggling."
Her voice became quieter.
"I wasn't afraid of hard work. I was afraid of losing him."
Elias looked at her.
For the first time, he realized something.
They were not as different as he thought.
Both of them had spent years blaming themselves for things they could not change.
Both had lost someone.
Both had built walls around their hearts.
And both were tired.
On the sixth day, the letter arrived.
Elias knew something was wrong the moment he saw the rider approaching.
The man carried official papers.
Anna stepped outside.
"Is that from the bank?"
Elias took the envelope.
He opened it.
His expression hardened.
"What?"
He handed it to her.
Anna read.
Then read again.
Her face slowly lost color.
"The auction."
Elias nodded.
"When?"
Her voice trembled.
"They said nine days."
"Changed."
"To when?"
He looked at the paper.
"Tomorrow."
Anna stared at him.
"They can't do that."
"They already did."