So he respected the space between them.
He chopped wood. Tended cattle. Cooked meals. Repaired what needed repair. He tried to make the cabin feel like refuge instead of prison.
Clara moved through the cabin like a ghost at first—silent, careful, always watching from corners, flinching at every sudden motion.
If Eli stood too quickly, she stiffened.
If he reached for a pan too fast, she backed away.
If the door banged in the wind, her whole body jumped like it expected pain.
Eli learned to move slower.
To announce himself without making it obvious.
To set things down gently.
And every day, in small, plain words, he reminded her—
