and now i find, we're both alone || self-thread
WHO: Morgan Weston & Granny Weston
WHERE: The Weston Farm, Montana
WHEN: Wednesday the 13th of November
WHY: Morgan gets the most useful advice from his granny.
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of heart attack, illness and death.
SONG INSPIRATION: Jeanette Nolan - Goodbye May Seem Forever
Morgan sat at the kitchen table, staring at the half-empty cup of coffee in front of him. The house was quiet except for the occasional groan of the old pipes and the distant clucking of the hens outside. His grandmother, Evelyn, moved gracefully around the kitchen, making biscuits from scratch like she had every morning for decades. The rhythm of her movements, the sound of flour sifting, and the scent of butter sizzling in the cast-iron skillet made everything feel achingly familiar.
Evelyn glanced over her shoulder at him as she worked. “You’ve got that look on your face,” she said lightly, not unkindly. “The same one you used to wear when you got into trouble as a boy and didn’t know how to confess.”
Morgan huffed a quiet laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I did,” he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his mug.
She didn’t press him right away. Instead, she slid a plate of fresh biscuits in front of him, patting his shoulder as she took the seat across from him. Her hands rested on the table, fingers laced, and she gave him that patient, all-seeing look that only grandmothers seemed to master.
“You haven't talked to me in a long time, bubba,” Evelyn started, her voice gentle but with an edge of concern. However, there was no judgment to be found in her tone. “You've not been doing well.”
Morgan shifted uncomfortably, running a thumb over the rim of his cup. He didn’t know how to explain it all - how he’d felt like a man trying to patch up a sinking ship with band-aids. “I've been chasing after people, tryin' to prove my love to 'em. I sent them flowers, and made them their favorite meals, and everythin',” he admitted, feeling a heaviness press against his chest.
Evelyn sighed softly, her eyes studying him like she was searching for something deeper than words. “Morgan,” she began, her voice steady, “you’ve always been good at trying to make things right. You get that from your granddad, always thinkin’ that if you just worked hard enough, you could fix whatever was broken.”
He swallowed, feeling the truth of her words cut deeper than he expected. It was true - he’d always tried to do just that. Whether it was his career or his relationships, he worked himself to the bone to set things straight.
“But sometimes,” Evelyn continued, leaning forward slightly, “all that work isn’t fixin’ anything. It’s just keepin’ you busy so you don’t have to face what’s really wrong.”
Morgan opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. She wasn’t finished anyway.
“I don’t doubt your heart’s in the right place,” she said softly. “But you need to understand that love isn’t about grand gestures or trying to prove somethin’. What you’ve been doin’- all those flowers and whatnot, bubba, they’re not gonna erase the pain you caused.”
The words stung, but he knew she was right. He lowered his head, staring at the grooves in the wooden table, trying to ignore the way his chest ached.
“I didn’t mean to hurt them,” he whispered, his voice sounding small and lost.
Evelyn reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” she replied. “But intentions don’t always keep people from getting hurt. You were tryin’ to hang on to somethin’ that was already slippin’ away.”
Morgan’s throat tightened, and he clenched his jaw to keep the emotion from spilling out. “What was I supposed to do then?” he asked, his voice thick with frustration. “Just let them go?”
Her fingers squeezed his hand gently, and she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Sometimes lettin’ go is the kindest thing you can do for someone else, and for yourself. You’ve been chasin’ after them like if you run hard enough, you can outrun what happened. But Morgan, you can’t.”
It finally clicked for him in that moment - the weight of her words sinking into his bones. He’d been chasing something that wasn’t there anymore, trying to fix what was shattered, not realizing that in his desperation, he was only making the cracks deeper.
Morgan took a shaky breath, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. It wasn’t just about the flowers or the meals; it was about him refusing to accept that some things couldn’t be fixed. And in trying so hard, he hadn’t just hurt Eva and Puck - he’d hurt himself too.
“What do I do now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid of the answer.
Evelyn’s expression softened, and she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead like she used to do when he was a kid. “You start by forgivin’ yourself, Morgan. And you give them time and space to heal too. And maybe, you find a way to heal on your own.”
Morgan nodded slowly, feeling a strange mixture of relief and sadness wash over him. He didn’t know if he was ready to let go completely, but he understood now that he couldn’t keep running himself ragged, trying to piece back together a story that had already ended.
Evelyn squeezed his hand one last time before getting up to tend to the stove, her movements graceful and sure. “Life has a way of teachin’ us lessons,” she said, her back turned to him. “It’s up to us whether we’re willing to listen.”
She turned off the stove, and moved to the coffee pot, grabbing it and went to pour more coffee into Morgan's cup - the dark rings under his eyes could tell anyone that he needed it. “I'm gonna go and check on your granddad.”
Morgan sat there for a long time after she left, staring at his coffee, thinking about what she’d said. For the first time in weeks, he felt something loosen in his chest - a small sense of acceptance. It wasn’t the happy ending he’d hoped for, but it felt like the beginning of something else.
His thoughts were quickly interrupted though, the small footsteps from his grandmother hurrying into the kitchen. "Morgan, come quick, something's wrong!"