I came to my family's cabin to shake off a brutal hockey season with a few teammates, not to fight someone for the right to stay.
The woman dancing half-dressed through the rooms is the last person I expected, and the one I have told myself not to want since high school.
Our history goes back to a rainy night when I found her stranded, long before our parents met and married.
A decade of barely sharing space has stripped away the shy smile I remember, but it has not made this cabin any easier to share.
She insists she is not leaving, and once I hear why, I know I will not leave either.
