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“There is a difference between love and pity. There is a difference between knowing something awful happened to you and thinking you’re weak. You were a victim and—”

“Iama victim. Now that you know, that’s what Iamto you.”

“No—”

“You used the word, Shane. Not me. You don’t know a lot ofvictims, so you can’t understand what it’s like to be one. You don’t know. Now, I have to get back to my son.” She moved for the door.

“Cora.”

But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t go on this way any further without breaking down. Because it hurt to say all these awful things she didn’t want to believe.

But they were all true. She saw the truth in him, in his inability to argue, in the way he felt about his own mistakes and failures.

“Good-bye, Shane,” she managed, stepping back inside, doing everything she could to fight the swell of tears.

This was therightthing. She would always be the victim. He would always be the man trying too hard to make up for things that weren’t his to make up for.

She had to want better for herself. For her son. No matter how badly, deeply, horrifically the wound cut.

* * *

When Shane finally got home after driving the rental car to Benson, and having Mom pick Boone, Molly, and him up, he felt as though he’d lived through a year rather than a day. A year that had done everything in the world to upend everything he felt and believed.

He trudged up to the house with his family, ready to just go to his room and sleep. Maybe with a bottle of Jack to aid the process. But as they got to the porch stairs, Mom hooked her arm with his.

“You and I are going for a little ride.”

“Mom, thanks and all, but I don’t feel like—”

“It wasn’t a request or an invitation, Shane Tyler. It was a statement.” And with that she gave him a hard jerk toward the stables.

“It’s like four in the morning.”

“Yes, just about the time you’re usually getting up. The horses will think you’re right on time.”

“Mom.”

“Not another word until you’re in the saddle.”

She pulled him the entire way, and he didn’t know what else to do but be pulled. Two horses were already saddled and tethered outside the doors.

“Ben helped me out some. You know, he said you two talked the other day.”

Shane grunted.

“It means a lot to me that you did that. That you were the one who reached out, and I know you don’t want to hear that.” Mom easily mounted her horse, gesturing for Shane to do the same.

Exhausted beyond measure, Shane got up on MacGregor. It eased a little of that horrible tension inside of him, and he supposed that was why Mom had insisted upon this.

But it couldn’t solve any of his problems. Of course, neither could sleep or even him, so what did it matter?

Mom nudged Templeton forward, and Shane followed, across the fields, around the familiar path toward the Tyler cemetery.

“This seems to be my go-to spot these days,” he muttered. “Nothing like death to really solve a problem for you.”

Mom didn’t respond, but she brought Templeton to a stop and slid off. She hung the reins on a branch, and Shane followed suit.

Somehow, he knew where this was going, and if he had had any fight left in him, he would have fought. Refused to have this conversation. But he was plum out of fight, and Mom never fought fair anyway.