I Locked My Window Forever

At the bonfire party, my friends started teasing Maeve, asking when she was finally going to marry me.

Her expression turned dead serious.

Did you all lose your minds after living in the city for a few years? she asked, her voice carrying over the crackle of the flames. In the Ridge, men dont take wives, and women dont take husbands. We only keep the Walk.

The crowd laughed and chimed in, and I forced a smile to match theirs. But a quiet, gnawing anxiety settled deep in my chest, heavy and cold.

Maeve and I had been on the Walk for six years. Every single night, I climbed up the wooden ladder to her loft window. For all intents and purposes, we had been living as husband and wife.

But lately, with the valley opening up to tourism, the pressure to get a legal marriage license and buy property was staring us in the face. I had finally broken down and asked her a few days ago, "Maybe we should just get a license? Sign the papers?"

Maeve had fallen silent for a beat. Then, she reached into her bag, pulled out a small, navy-blue folder, and slid it across the table toward me.

"Actually, Micah... I signed the papers with Brody this morning."

She paused, watching my face. "Hes an out-of-towner, a college kid. He needs local residency to buy land for the development project. Without a legal spouse, his hands are tied."

Sitting quietly in the corner, Brody gave me a timid, apologetic smile.

Maeve reached out and squeezed my hand reassuringly. "We dont care about a piece of paper anyway. You dont need it. But I had to help him."

A log in the bonfire popped, sending a shower of sparks into the dark night. The laughter died instantly. Everyone went quiet.

As I sat there, numb, my gran's old words drifted back to me from the depths of my childhood.

"The Walk is built on freedom, Micah. You come and go as you please."

If she could marry someone else, I could climb through another window.

The atmosphere around the bonfire turned instantly awkward. My friends exchanged uneasy glances, shifting in their camp chairs.

Sitting in the corner, Brody seemed unable to shoulder the sudden weight of the silence. He stood up, looking small.

"Micah, Im sorry... I just really wanted to stay in the valley. If this makes you miserable, Ill file for divorce tomorrow, I swear."

Maeves hand was still resting on the back of mine. "Micah, Brody came all this way to handle the tourism development. As the community liaison, Im responsible for him. You understand that, right?"

I remained silent, staring at the table.

Seeing the tension escalate, a friend tried to smooth things over. "Haha, Maeves always looking out for people! Yeah, its just a piece of paper. Only city folks care about that stuff anyway."

I couldn't hear the chatter around me. My eyes were locked entirely on Brody's wrist.

He was wearing the hand-beaten silver cuff.

The one I had given Maeve.

"Why is he wearing your silver cuff?" My voice was raw, barely a whisper.

Maeve glanced at his wrist, her tone dismissive. "Oh. We got caught in a torrential downpour in the mountains this morning. He was shivering and terrified. I just gave him my silver cuff to wear for a bityou know how the old folks say it wards off bad luck."

I froze. She knew better than anyone. On the Ridge, if a walking partner let another man wear their personal silver, it meant the bond was severed. She had stood beneath the ancient oak tree, holding my hand, and sworn to the prayer ribbons that no other man would ever touch that cuff.

A cold seeped into my bones. I stood up, claiming I didn't feel well and needed to head back.

But a friend grabbed my arm, pulling me back down. "Come on, Micah, don't run off. Its just a misunderstanding. Well sort it out!"

He grabbed an empty whiskey bottle from the table and spun it. "Look, since were all fired up tonight, lets play Truth or Dare! If you don't want to play, you take a shot of the rye!"

The crowd, desperate to break the suffocating silence, cheered and leaned in.

The bottle spun on the rough wooden table, slowing down until it pointed straight at Brody.

"Truth or Dare, Brody?" someone asked, grinning.

Brody hesitated, looking at the floor. "I... Ill just take the shot." He reached for the jar of homemade rye.

Maeve stopped his hand. "Brodys had too much to drink tonight. Ill take the truth for him. Go ahead, ask me."

The group exchanged quiet, uneasy glances, shooting looks at me.

One of the guys, emboldened by the alcohol, asked the lethal question. "Alright, Maeve. Real talk. Whats the most scandalous thing you and Brody have done behind Micahs back?"

All eyes landed on Maeve. She was flushed, half-tipsy, and completely unbothered.

"Last month, when we were mapping the trail up the snowy peaks, we got trapped by a blizzard in the survival cabin. To keep him from hypothermia, we had to strip down and get into the same sleeping bag."

She smiled faintly, a trace of reminiscence in her voice. "To be honest... it was actually really beautiful. He was pressed against me. I couldn't help but feel a spark."

Brody's face turned bright red. "Maeve, please... you shouldn't say things like that."

Maeve shrugged, utterly justified. "Why not? It was an emergency. Besides, Micah has always been sensible. Hes not going to make a fuss over something like that."

A wave of nausea hit me.

While she was in that cabin, I had nearly died. I had gone mad with worry, dragging myself through freezing slush with the rescue team. Ice water had filled my boots, freezing my toes until they were raw, infected, and entirely numb. I only let them carry me down the mountain after I heard she was safe.

A collective gasp went around the table. People looked at me, holding their breath.

I didn't scream. I didn't throw a fist. I just stood up.

"Its getting late. I really need to go get some rest."

Maeve frowned, reaching out to pull me back. "Micah, Im being honest with you because I have nothing to hide. Its just a game. Youre not actually mad, are you?"

I pulled my hand from her grip, inch by inch.

"Im not mad," I said quietly. "Im just... tired."

I turned and walked away into the dark.

I had barely cleared the trees when the silence behind me dissolved into drunken, rowdy cheers.

"Maeve! Its your turn again! No more truth, its dare time!"

"How about you kiss your new groom?"

Brody's shy voice carried through the cold air. "Don't... Maeve and I, we're just married on paper. Its not real..."

Then, the noise abruptly cut out.

"Holy shit! Maeve, are you crazy? You actually did it?!"

"Come on, guys, shut up! Micah hasn't even cleared the clearing yet!"

Someone tried to smooth it over. "Hey, Maeves clearly wasted. The rye is talking..."

"Yeah, shes out of her mind. Stop egging her on!"

I didn't look back. I just kept walking.

Later that night, Maeve returned to her loft cabin.

The lofts were the private spaces of the Ridge's women. No outsider was ever allowed to set foot inside except for their walking partner.

For six years, I would knock three times beneath her window, and she would push open the shutters to let me climb in. There had never been an exception.

But tonight, for the first time, I saw that the heavy wooden latch was firmly down.

Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I stood below, wanting to talk to her one last time.

"Maeve, open the window."

No answer. I knocked again. "Maeve, are you angry?"

Silence.

Suddenly, her phone rang inside. Through the thin wooden walls, Brody's sobbing voice leaked out into the quiet night.

"Maeve, my mom heard about the marriage... she wants to see my wife. Please help me. Her heart is weak. If she finds out its a sham, itll kill her."

After a long pause, Maeve sighed. "Okay. Wait for me."

She finally pushed the window open.

"Micah, you need to head back tonight. I have to see this through. Wait for me, Ill be back soon."

She climbed down and rushed into the darkness.

I stare at the empty window, feeling a profound sense of absurdity.

The Walk demanded absolute, one-on-one devotion. For a walking woman to enter another man's cabin at night was the ultimate betrayal.

She didn't return that night.

I walked back to my own cabin, and in the dark, I dropped the heavy wooden latch on my own window.

When a man of the Ridge decides to sever the Walk, he doesn't make a scene.

This window is closed. And I am completely done with Maeve.

The next morning, I walked out of my room and looked toward the highest ridge.

My grans old hand-hewn cabin sat on the hill overlooking the lake. It was where I grew up.

With the new tourism laws, the county only recognized "legally married couples" for property ownership of historic homes. Since I had no marriage certificate, I couldn't claim her cabin.

Maeve knew this. Yet she had given that certificate to someone else.

At dawn, the screech of construction machinery woke me. It was coming from Gran's cabin.

I ran up the hill. A small excavator was parked in the yard. Maeve was standing nearby, talking on her cell phone.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Landry. Brody is doing great here. We bought the house by the lakethe air is wonderful, the view is beautiful. I'll take good care of him."

I froze. My eyes drifted to the blueprints and deed resting on the stone table.

The address was Grans cabin.

My head spun. "Maeve, what is this?"

She hung up quickly. "Micah, you know the county won't let you keep this land without a marriage certificate. You couldn't buy it. I had to secure it under Brody's and my name first."

I started to shake. "So you bought my grandmother's house to use as your marital home?"

Maeve frowned, looking at me like I was a difficult child. "Brody's health isn't great. He can't stay in those damp worker dorms forever. Once the new house is built next year, he'll move out. Then I'll divorce him and register with you."

She waved her hand to the workers.

A couple of men walked inside carrying heavy sledgehammers, heading straight for the stone hearth.

"What are you doing?!"

I tried to rush in, but Maeve grabbed my arm.

"The old hearth is a fire hazard, and Brody hates the smell of woodsmoke. I'm having them tear it down to install modern underfloor heating."

I stared at her, horrified.

For six years, I had told her what that hearth meant to me. It was where Gran sat every winter night, spinning stories by the crackle of the wood.

And now, she was smashing it because Brody "hated the smell of smoke."

"Don't touch it!"

I broke free from her grip, throwing myself in front of the hearth, blocking the workers.

Behind me, a weak cough broke the air.

"Micah, stop it. Let them tear it down."

My ailing grandfather stood there, leaning heavily on my uncle's shoulder.

My uncle walked over, pulling me away from the stone with a heavy heart.

The sledgehammer swung down.

"Gran!"

I screamed, watching the stones crumble. The dust choked my throat, and the last physical piece of my grandmother turned to rubble.

My knees buckled, and everything went black.

I woke up in my own bed. Grandpa was sitting beside me, his weathered hand resting on my forehead.

"Micah, you're awake."

Tears streamed down my face. "Grandpa, why did you let them..."

He sighed, wiping my tears with a trembling thumb.

"My boy, if something isn't meant to be kept, it's better to cut it clean."

He looked at me, never mentioning Maeve's name, and limps out of the room.

Left alone, I stared at the ceiling.

That evening, as the wind shook the prayer ribbons by the lake, I sent word through my uncle to the community:

"Micah has severed his old Walk. If there is someone who wants a true, faithful partnership, someone who believes in keeping the window unlatched for only one person, I will seek her light tonight beneath her loft."

The news spread like wildfire. People thought I was just acting out because my feelings were hurt.

When Maeve heard of it, she only laughed.

"Everyone in the valley knows Micah belongs to me. Even if he stands out there all night with a lantern, what woman would dare take him? He's just trying to make me jealous."

In her mind, I loved her too much to ever leave.

But as night fell, I quietly packed her things.

Six years of memories. A straw-woven grasshopper she had made. A few jackets in my closet.

I tossed them into a trash bag, carried them to my hearth, and lit a match.

Watching them burn, I felt an incredible, unexpected lightness.

I walked down the path to the lofts.

Just as I was about to turn away, thinking no one would answer, three soft knocks sounded from a window above.

Maeve had spent the evening looking at property lots with Brody and having a celebratory dinner.

She was tipsy. When she dropped him off, Brody grabbed her sleeve.

"Maeve, you're drunk... why don't you stay tonight?"

A spark of heat flared in her chest. But then she remembered the rumor about my "severance." She pictured me standing beneath her window in the cold, filled with regret, knocking.

She pushed Brody's hand away, bought a package of my favorite maple fudge, and hurried back.

She reached my cabin and knocked.

"Micah, stop being stubborn. Open up. Let me apologize."

She waited. No answer.

Panicking, she knocked harder. "Micah, I bought the maple fudge. Stop playing games, let me in!"

Finally, the latch slides back.

The door creaked open.

Maeve sighed with relief. "I knew you couldn't stay mad"

She stopped dead.

In the moonlight stands another woman.

"Can I help you with my partner?"

The maple fudge dropped to the dirt, shattering.

All the alcohol drained from Maeve's system instantly.