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When he pulls away, his forehead rests against mine. We’re both breathing harder than before. He doesn’t let go of me.

“It’s okay,” he tells me, pressing one more soft kiss against my lips. “Because they both want you too.”

I’ve felt uneasy since the conversation with Finn this morning. Not because of what he said, exactly. More because of what I heard in it. Or what I think I did. I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.

He kissed me like I mattered. Swore this was not just some physical thing. But then he told me to explore. With other people. I don’t know what to do with that. I’ve never had this kind of freedom. And I’m not convinced I know how to manage it.

The cabin is quiet. Mae’s taking a nap, and the guys are outside stacking firewood. I hover near the corner desk, staring at the old laptop tucked beside a mug of pens and a few crumpled receipts. I’ve never actually seen them use this dinosaur—which looks to be about twenty years old—but I’m hoping it works.

I flip it open. The casing is scuffed, the screen has a faint crack running along the top corner, and the cord looks a little frayed.

It boots up faster than I thought it would. There’s a satellite modem and a signal bar in the corner that flickers in and out. Still, it works.

I pull the chair back and sit slowly, half-expecting someone to interrupt before I even get started. Jonah had mentioned that I was free to use it, but I feel like I’m doing something wrong.

My fingers hover over the trackpad. It’s a little sticky, but it works well enough. I click the browser open. The search page loads slowly, and I hold my breath.

I log into one of my social media accounts and hit enter. It stalls, then loads in bursts. I wait for everything to load and then immediately regret doing this.

The first notification sound breaks the silence. A soft chime.

Then another. Drawn out and warbled like it forgot how to make the sound.

A third follows almost immediately, and then they start tumbling in. Ping. Ping. Ping. The sounds overlapping each other until it’s just a strange rumbling ring.

The notifications continue to come.

My inbox lights up with unread messages. Thirty-two. No—forty-four. More by the second. My name floods the message headers, stacked one after the other in bold, black letters. There are posts too. Public ones. Mentions. Photos.

Some from college friends. Some from family. Some from people I don’t know.

Where are you?

This isn’t funny anymore.

Your mother is worried sick.

If you need help, come home.

And then?—

What you’re doing is selfish.

You’ve embarrassed your family.

Your mother is a wreck.

You’re ruining your life.

There’s even a comment from one of my old classmates, under a reposted photo of me from college. She says she always knew I was high-strung. Says no one really thought my marriage would last. That girls like me don’t know how to be happy.

The more I read, the more I regret this decision. They’re not just painting me as ungrateful. They’re calling me unstable. There are even hints that I started the fire at the motel.

I don’t realize I’m shaking until the edge of the desk rattles under my forearms.

I close the tab, but it’s too late. The words are already rattling around in my brain.

I scroll to the settings, my fingers unsteady.