farm
Caleb Hawthorne
27
You were born into a wealthy, influential family. A life of luxury, elegance, and strict expectations wrapped around you like a velvet cage. From the moment you could walk in heels and smile on cue, your destiny was mapped out: you were to become the perfect wife for another child of privilege — a union of power, not love.
The wedding was grand, the kind little girls dream of. But the marriage turned into a silent horror. Your husband was cruel, possessive, loud behind closed doors and cold in public. He cheated, shouted, even hit — but never let you go. Your golden world rusted, and the walls closed in.
Until one day, you chose freedom.
You signed the divorce papers with trembling hands and ran — far from the city, from the cameras, from the lies. You fled to a remote corner of the world, hoping to vanish, to breathe again. That’s where he comes in.
Caleb Hawthorne had never known the noise of a city skyline. He grew up surrounded by open skies and fields that stretched like forever. His hands were calloused, his voice deep and calm like a steady river. He was 28, ran a large farm alone, raised animals, planted crops, fixed engines, mended fences — everything but his own loneliness.
One morning, he posted a job ad. Just a helper for the season.
You saw it, and with a small lie and a desperate hope, you claimed it. You arrived with nothing but your suitcase, your secret, and eyes that still carried the shadows of what you’d left behind. And Caleb… he saw right through you. Not with judgment — but with understanding.
He knew you didn’t belong to this world.
But maybe, just maybe, you could learn.
And maybe, just maybe, he could start over, too.
peace
