60 "6months"

Six months changes everything.

My body tells time differently now. Not by clocks or calendars, but by the way my back aches before sunset, by how my feet swell if I stand too long, by the slow, rolling movements beneath my ribs that remind me I'm not alone anymore.

I'm six months pregnant, and there's no hiding it now.

The trailer Travis put me in has become a home in ways I didn't expect. I tacked up a calendar on the wall. Hung my jacket by the door. There's a little radio that only gets one station, and I play it low at night just so the silence doesn't get too loud.

The men at the stables treat me different now—not bad, just careful. They don't let me lift the heavy feed sacks anymore. Someone always steps in before I can. I still work, though. I still check legs and eyes and gums. I still talk to the horses like they're people, because sometimes they listen better than people ever did.Travis watches me like a hawk when he is around"You slowin' down Scarface," he says one afternoon, leanin' on the fence while I rest my hands on my hips."I'm pacing myself," I shoot back.He smirks. "Same thing."The truth is, I'm tired. Bone-deep tired. But it's different than before. This tired has purpose. At night, when I lie on my side and feel the baby kick, I press my palm there and whisper promises I don't know how I'll keep yet.But I will.June still calls once a week. The diner is doing fine. She tells me she's proud of me like it's the most natural thing in the world, and sometimes that makes my chest ache worse than loneliness ever did.I haven't heard from the ranch.Not Rip. Not Walker. Not anyone.At first, the silence hurt. Then it became something else—space. Breathing room. I stopped waiting for trucks that would never pull up. Stopped flinching every time someone raised their voice.Some nights, I still dream of Walker. The good version. The one who held me like I mattered. I wake up with my heart racing, guilt and love tangled together so tight I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. I miss his kisses, his soft words, his dumb jokes. I weep over him. But I don't cry like I used to. I keep thinking about him. So much I overwhelm myself. I'm about to have his baby... parts of me should contact him. Put him at ease... that is if he is uneasy...

One evening, as the sun sinks low and paints the stables gold, Travis walks beside me, quieter than usual. "You ever think about names?" he asks.I smile without thinking. "Every day."He nods. "Kid's gonna be tough. Got that from you Scarface.""Not sure about that.. I ain't very tough" I look down at my station as I cleaned it up. "From a little girl who had the unimaginable happen to her, to now what you are. I'd say that pretty bad ass Scarface" I look out at the horses, at the land stretching wide and open. For the first time in my life, the future doesn't feel like a threat. "I hate that damn nickname" I scoff. Travis smirks devilishly. "You don't like it? You ever see that movie?" He asked. I shook my head. "It's bad ass. You'd take it as a compliment if yous was a guy" he snickered. "Well I'm not a guy. So I don't like it" I crossed my arms above my big ol belly. "Fine. I'll come up with something else. No promises it'll be better" he held up his fingers in gun form. "Go on home. Rest up. You'll be meeting the vet tomorrow. Her name is Emily. She's smokin hot"

Emily showed up just after sunrise.I notice her truck first—clean, sensible, not trying to prove anything. Then I see her step out, clipboard tucked under her arm, brownish blonde hair pulled into a low braid that means business without needing to say it.She smiles when she sees me."Hi," she says easily, like kindness is her default setting. "You must be Willie."I blink. People don't usually know my name before they know me, but it still catches me off guard. "Yeah. That's me.""I'm Emily. I'm the m vet Travis was telling me about you." She glances down—just once—at my belly, then right back to my eyes. No judgment. No awkwardness. "I'm really glad to finally meet you."That alone makes my shoulders loosen.We start the day together, moving stall to stall. She asks questions, but not in that way that makes you feel tested. She asks because she actually wants to know what I think."What'd you notice first?" she asks when we're looking at a gelding favoring his back leg."The heat," I say. "Then the way he shifts his weight when he thinks no one's watching."Emily's mouth curves into a grin. "That's exactly right."It feels good. Being seen. Being taken seriously.Midmorning, we're stitching a minor cut on a mare's flank, and Emily's hands are steady, confident. I watch the way she works—precise but gentle—and she notices me watching."You ever think about getting certified?" she asks softly.I almost laugh. Almost. "Nah.. I could never afford school.. I had money saved for it.. but I gave it to a friend in need instead. "She hums. "You'd be surprised. There are financial aids."

"Yeah.. for a while I didn't qualify for it. I might now"

"How so?"

"Daddy. When I lived with him, he had money. Alot of it.. now that I'm here with hardly a home I may benefit more.."

"Look into it. You may find what you're looking for"

The workday moves faster with her around. We split lunch on overturned feed buckets, and she gives me half her apple without making a big deal of it. When I excuse myself to sit for a minute because my back's acting up, she doesn't protest—just pulls a chair closer so we can keep talking.She tells me she grew up in West Texas. I tell her I grew up... complicated.She doesn't push.

In the late afternoon, a young colt spooks and rears. Instinct kicks in before fear does. I move without thinking, calm voice, slow hands. Emily watches closely.After, she lets out a breath. "You're really good with them."I shrug. "They tell you what they need if you listen. They were my only friends growing up too"

She nods, eyes thoughtful. "You do that with people too?"

I don't answer right away. "Not a chance"

By the time the sun dips low and the heat finally breaks, my feet ache and my shirt clings to my back, but I feel lighter than I have in a long time.As we part ways, Emily pauses. "Hey, Willie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

So am I, I think.

And for the first time in months, I don't feel like I'm surviving the day.

I feel like I belong in it.