Chapitre 3: Chapter 2

The barn was the only place Queenie Weston could cry without being caught.

It was her secret refuge, tucked at the far end of her family's modest farm, where the earthy scent of hay mingled with the faint tang of manure. Here, the voices of her parents calling her to tend to the chickens or gather the ripe vegetables couldn't reach her.

The barn had seen many things over the years: her failed attempts at taming feral kittens, whispered dreams about adventures beyond the hills, and now, her heartbreak over Maddy leaving.

Q hunched over an uneven crate she'd turned into a makeshift desk. Her hands trembled as she scratched out words on the thin, crinkled paper. Each letter started the same way:

"Dear Maddy,"

The words blurred as tears welled up in her eyes again. Q swiped at them with the back of her hand, leaving faint streaks of dirt across her cheek.

"Get a grip, Q," she muttered to herself, sniffing. "She hasn't even left yet."

But no amount of scolding could stop the ache in her chest. She pressed the nib of the old fountain pen harder against the paper, the tip catching on the rough fibers as she wrote.

"Today's the sixth day since you told me. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn't. I know you think this is for the best, but it doesn't feel that way for me. It feels like I'm losing my other half. Like I'm losing… you."

A drop of ink pooled on the word you, spreading out like a bruise. Q's vision blurred again, and she pushed the letter aside with a shaky sigh.

Beside her, a small stack of folded letters sat tied with a string.

Seven of them so far—one for every day since Maddy had told her about RAPS.

By the time Maddy left, Q planned to have 365. A year's worth of letters, one for each day they'd be apart. She didn't know if Maddy would ever read them, but the thought of her friend holding even one brought her some comfort.

"Queenie!"

The sharp call of her mother's voice startled her. Q jolted, almost knocking over the ink bottle. She hastily stuffed the letter into her apron pocket, shoving the rest into a small box she kept hidden under the crate.

"Queenie, are you hiding in that barn again?"

"I'm coming!"

Her mother appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She was a wiry woman with a face weathered by years of hard work, her expression as sharp as the scythe she kept hanging by the door.

"You've got time to sulk and scribble nonsense, but not to feed the chickens? They're half-starved by now!"

Q stood, wiping her face hastily and trying to look composed. "I was just taking a break."

Her mother snorted. "Breaks don't plow fields or put food on the table. You think that Carlton girl of yours is gonna send us gold from her fancy school? Get your head out of the clouds and back to work."

"Yes, ma."

But as soon as her mother was out of sight, Q darted toward the small grove near the farm. It was her second hiding spot, a quiet patch of shade beneath a cluster of apple trees. There, she pulled out the unfinished letter and scribbled frantically.

She didn't care if her mother thought the letters were "nonsense." They were the only way she could keep Maddy close, even as the days slipped through her fingers like grain through a sieve.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and pink, Q had written three more letters. She folded them neatly and tied them with the others, the growing stack nestled safely in her apron pocket. Tomorrow, she decided, she'd take them to Maddy herself.

The next morning, Q set off for the Carlton estate with a heavy heart and a small bundle of letters clutched tightly in her hands.

The estate gates were as grand as ever, their iron bars curling into intricate designs that looked more like art than function. Beyond them, the courtyard stretched out like a dream: perfectly trimmed hedges, vibrant flowers blooming in neat beds, and a white stone path leading to the sprawling house.

Q hesitated, clutching the letters to her chest. She wasn't sure what she would say to Maddy. Maybe she'd just hand the bundle over and run before her emotions got the better of her. Or maybe she'd stay, hugging her best friend one last time.

Gathering her courage, she marched up the path and knocked on the heavy oak door.

It was one of the Carlton maids who answered, her crisp uniform spotless as she looked Q up and down with thinly veiled disapproval.

"Miss Weston-"

Q cleared her throat. "I'm here to see Maddy. Er, Miss Carlton, I mean." She held up the bundle of letters awkwardly. "I—I've got something for her."

The maid's expression shifted, a flicker of something like pity crossing her face.

"I'm afraid you've missed her, dear. Miss Carlton left this morning for RAPS."

Q blinked, her breath hitching. "She—she already left?"

The maid nodded, her hands folding neatly in front of her. "She wanted to say goodbye to you, but her departure was quite rushed. The carriage arrived earlier than expected."

Q's world tilted. Her grip on the letters slackened, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse right there on the Carlton's pristine doorstep.

The maid's gaze softened.

"She did leave a message for you," she offered. "She said to remember what she told you—that you'll always be her dearest friend, no matter the distance."

The words should have comforted her, but they only made the ache in Q's chest worse. She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak, and turned away before the maid could say anything more.

Maddy was gone, and Q hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

She had written 365 letters for Maddy, one for every day they'd be apart.

And now, she would never know if Maddy would even see them.

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