All right, so I know I haven't updated in a really long time. I've been busy/between fandoms/what have you. But I recently reread this story and thought I'd update it. Not sure if I'll keep up with it anymore, I just felt like writing something for it.

July 31, 1917

I've been away from the cottage for five days. I left the day after I saw Jesse by the lake. I spent the night before getting everything in order. I found a canvas bag to put my spare petticoat and the several dresses of Mae's that I had altered to fit me in, along with some of the boy's clothes I found around the cabin.

I had no idea of what I would do for food. I had been "living off the land" during my entire stay here. Fortunately, I found ten dollars in a jar by the lantern; I would buy food when I got to the first town. I would even sell a dress or two if need be.

I ate a big breakfast (knowing I could go at least a couple days without my stomach moaning from hunger) and set out bright and early, the sun only just beginning to make its way over the trees. I knew there was a back way to escape the woods, and a town very close by, so I began in that direction. It all felt very triumphant and liberating, me finally leaving my sanctuary of the cabin after almost a year. But then I remember the reason I was there in the first place.


The man I was now searching for.

Yesterday, all my fears returned to me as I sat by a river to wash my petticoat.

What if I never find him? What if he comes back to the cottage and I'm not there? Will he think I didn't drink the water? I should have left a note or something. How stupid of me! What if I don't love him, after hating him for so long, when, or if, I see him again? What if he doesn't love me? What will his family think when they find out I drank the water?

I had rarely thought about what the other Tucks would think of my choice.

Tuck and Miles would be disgusted with me, I'm sure. I myself was still disgusted with me, even with my new decision to look for Jesse. Mae might have some sympathy for me, knowing how much I loved Jesse, or simply for knowing how long I had spent alone. Waiting.

This afternoon, my anger resurfaced after the past six days.

Why was I the one searching for him? He's the one who said he'd find me. Why was I feeling obligated to find him? Why should I care anymore? It's not like he's appeared to make any effort to find me.

It's because I've been alone in that house for almost a year.

It's because sometimes I go days without speaking. There's no need to.

It's because with every sound I heard I got hopeful, only to be disappointed.

It's because I want my existence to be worth something, even if that something is simply searching.