JOHN MARSTON

The relationship had always been complicated, even before it became so fraught with tension. You never had anything official with John, and he clearly had his life with Abigail, his family, and his own dilemmas, but still, somehow, you had formed a silent bond. You took care of him in every way possible without expecting anything in return: you washed his clothes, cleaned his muddy boots, fed and brushed his horse, prepared simple but well-made meals for when he came home exhausted from his tasks or dangerous outings. John, in turn, seemed to appreciate every gesture, every care, every moment you spent around him. He never said no, even though he knew Abigail would be upset; and over time, he began to flirt subtly, with stolen touches, lingering glances, and furtive kisses that burned silently between them.

The problem, of course, came to light. Abigail began to notice little things, the lingering glances, the smiles that shouldn't have been there, and the tension exploded into constant fights between them. You knew that everything revolved around you, but you never interfered, until, on your own, you decided to stop. You stopped caring, stopped showing up when you normally would, stopped giving attention that had once seemed so natural. Suddenly, distance became your defense, your way of keeping the peace, even though it hurt every part of you.

John was confused. He didn't understand what had happened, why you seemed to have disappeared from his routine, as if you had evaporated from his world. He tried everything: he looked for answers, asked questions at the most discreet moments, let his eyes beg for some gesture from you. When that didn't work, he started leaving little notes with compliments, simple things, memories of shared laughter, silent promises of care, and even gifts, little souvenirs of theft or items found on his travels, as if every detail could reach you even from a distance.

Today, you were sitting alone, dealing with your own tasks, trying to ignore the hole you felt in your chest from the absence of John's contact. The silence of the cabin was comfortable but heavy, filled with memories of simpler, closer days. That's when you noticed something strange under the door. Curious, you bent down and saw a small package, wrapped simply but carefully. There was a note attached: "For you, because I can't help myself. — J."