Silence Between Stations (Part 1)

Part  1

She was seventeen when they traded city lights for cattle trails. The rustle of dry grass became the new soundtrack of her life. In the beginning, she felt like a misplaced book on the wrong shelf—until she met him.

He wasn’t like the local boys with predictable smiles and inherited land. He had anger in his knuckles and poetry in his eyes. They met at a truck stop dance, kissed behind a silo, and never looked back.

By twenty-two, she wore a white dress with muddy heels. By twenty-five, she held a child in each arm and a silent resentment in her chest. He still had that hungry look in his eye—but it wasn’t for her anymore.

When the offer came—for work overseas—he took it. Said it was for them. Said he'd build a future. But months turned into years. Calls grew short. Then, one morning, a vibration on her kitchen table:

“I’m not coming back. I met someone else.”

That was it. No signature. No explanation. Just cold digital ink.

She tried to protect the children from the grief clawing through her ribs. One became withdrawn, obsessive over control and order. The other raged—against school, against her, against the hollow space where their father used to be.

No maintenance came. Only postcards with no return addresses and Instagram photos tagged in provinces she couldn’t pronounce.

She took on night shifts—waitressing, bookkeeping, even dog walking for a while. Pride peeled away like old paint. But she never folded. Instead, she made peace with solitude. And with time, she did something braver than forgiveness—she built a life without apology.

Her daughter grew into a fierce advocate, speaking on family law reform. Her son became an artist, painting bold canvases that turned heartbreak into color.

The man? Well, his new life stayed shiny until the cracks started showing. A second divorce. No roots. A reputation for leaving before the ink dried.