1. Chapter One

Chapter one

My keys jingle as I unlock my front door. It’s been a long day — a long week even — but there’s no time to rest. I have to pack my bags and head out again almost immediately if I want to reach the Payette National Forest before nightfall. Can’t hunt for Bigfoot in the dark!

The footprints that were found are astonishing. I’ll need to make casts of the prints first, and then I'll need to cross-reference the stride length with the data I have from the— Rose petals? Flickering candlelight? The smell of gourmet cooking?

My boots crunch on the trail of red petals leading from the entrance toward the kitchen. What in the world? Did Mark do this? Either that or I have a very romantic home intruder.

Dropping my backpack, I follow the petal path curiously.

"Mark? You home?" I call out, pushing open the door to the kitchen.

He whips around from the stove, brow furrowing when he sees me.

"Emily! You're back already?"

"Yeah, I just got in…."

My voice trails off as I take in the whole domestic scene — the candlelit table, the sizzling pans, the bouquet of roses as the centerpiece on the table.

"What's all this?"

Mark's shoulders slump.

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Forgot wha—"

The realization smacks me. It’s our fucking anniversary. I rake a hand through my hair as Mark nods sadly. Of course — tonight's the 22nd. Three years ago today I marched into his microbiology lab, ranting about potential sasquatch specimens, and somehow he asked me out instead of calling security.

Mark's frustration is palpable as he leans back against the counter, his voice tight.

"You forgot, didn't you? God damn it, Emily. What's your excuse this time?"

I wince, feeling the sting of his words.

"Mark, someone found new prints at the Payette National Forest. It's a big deal — bigger than we thought. I just got caught up in the excitement, you know?"

His gaze hardens, and he crosses his arms, shaking his head.

"You're always caught up in it. Sometimes I think you love that damn Bigfoot more than you love me."

He’s being melodramatic again. Jesus Christ, here we go.

"That's ridiculous, Mark," I reply, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes.

"Is it?" His voice rises slightly. "Think about it, Emily. How many dinners have you missed? How many nights have you come home late or not at all because you were out chasing some lead? How many trips have we had to cancel because new evidence has come in?”

Each question hits like a dart. In some ways, he’s not wrong. I do put my research first, but can you blame me? Mark isn’t leaving mysterious footprints and then disappearing off into the woods never to be seen again. I have to prioritize Bigfoot or we’ll never catch him.

I reach for his hand, trying to bridge the gap between us.

"Mark, hunting Bigfoot isn't like other jobs. I can't just put it on pause. When evidence comes in, I have to act immediately. You know that my job is important to me."

He pulls his hand away gently. He looks tired.

"I get that it's important to you, Emily. I do. But I need to feel like I'm important too."

I sigh. This old argument again.

"You are important to me, Mark.”

Mark's frustration is clear as he steps back, putting physical distance between us.

"Am I? We've been together three years, Emily. And sometimes it feels like you’re somewhere else, with your thoughts, your plans... Always looking for the next clue, the next expedition."

Come on Emily. Don’t lose your temper. Don’t lose your temper. Just take a deep breath.

"Mark, we moved in together. Isn't that serious enough? Doesn't that say something about how much I care?"

He gives me a small, sad smile.

"Moving in is one thing, Em, but how often do we actually see each other? How many evenings do you spend out there instead of here with me?"

His voice carries a weariness that tugs at my heart. Maybe he’s right, maybe I have been neglecting him. When did we last have sex? I don’t remember. Jeez. Has it been that long?

I think back to the day we met. I crashed into his department at the university like a hurricane. Picture this: me, wildly gesticulating with a cooler in hand, inside of which was what I solemnly declared to be Bigfoot scat. I was all fired up, practically demanding someone analyze it immediately. Mark was the lone brave soul who didn’t eye the door when I started my rant. Instead of calling security, which let’s be honest, would have been reasonable, he just raised an eyebrow and said, Slow down. I'll look at your sample, but you owe me a coffee if I'm touching that thing. And just like that, he became my unexpected anchor in a sea of academic skeptics. He actually did analyze the sample. It turned out to be a weird bear-deer poop cocktail. Go figure.

Mark exhales heavily. Some of the tension leaves his face. Maybe the argument is over.

"Can we just not argue tonight? Can't we just try to enjoy what's left of our anniversary?" he asks, gesturing to the carefully laid table.

Fuck. I just realized I haven’t told him I’m leaving tonight for the expedition. The argument is not over, it’s only just begun.

Mark’s expression shifts as he watches me, a crease forming between his brows. He can always tell when something's on my mind.

"What is it, Emily? What are you not telling me?"

I pause, steeling myself against the war I’m about to unleash.

"I... I have to go away for the weekend."

The confession hangs in the air, too heavy, too harsh for the soft candlelight. His face falls immediately, and the small flicker of hope that maybe we could salvage the evening extinguishes.

"Away? Now? But you just got in."

"It's the footprints," I rush to explain, my words tumbling out in a desperate flurry. "It's this big opportunity to gather evidence, and I can't miss it. I have to leave tonight."

Mark clenches his fists and for a moment I think he’s going to punch something.

"Tonight? You're leaving tonight, on our anniversary, after all this?" he asks incredulously. He motions around to the romantic setup now tinged with irony.

I flinch, realizing how selfish my plans must seem.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't plan for it to happen like this—"

"But it always does, doesn't it?" His words are sharp. They slice through the tense air. "It always does, Emily. There's always something more important."

I stand there, unable to find the words to soothe or explain further. I can see the pain etched in his eyes and yet, I’m not changing my mind. I’m leaving tonight.

Mark's frustration boils over, his voice rising to fill the space between us,

"You're chasing a fairytale, Emily! And all the while your prince charming is right here!"

I literally cannot stop myself from laughing. What a stupid statement.

"Stop being such a wet blanket, Mark! Prince Charming, my ass."

He reels back as if I've slapped him, his eyes flashing with hurt.

"At least I'm real, Emily! Unlike Bigfoot!"

Oh no. He did not just say that.

"How dare you!" I say through a clenched jaw.

But Mark isn't listening anymore. He's already moving away, his movements sharp and quick as he grabs his coat from the hook in the hall. He pauses at the front door, his hand on the knob. Tension lines his shoulders.

"I'm going to a bar, and I'll see you when you get back."

His words are clipped, final. Without waiting for a response, he pulls open the door and steps out. The cool night air sweeps in briefly as the door slams shut behind him.

Well, that could have gone better…

I sink into a chair, my thoughts swirling chaotically. I feel bad for Mark. It's hard being in love with a wild thing. You try to hold on, to find stability, but you’re always chasing something elusive, something just out of reach. I should know — I’ve built my career on chasing wild things.

As I sit alone, the reality of the evening's disaster settles in. Mark is gone. The room is silent. Methodically, I turn off the stove, the soft clicks echoing louder than usual in the empty kitchen. The sizzle of the dinner simmers into silence.

I head upstairs. In my room, I grab my duffel bag from the closet and toss in clothes and necessities. Once packed, I haul the bag down the stairs and out the front door. My campervan sits in the driveway. My steadfast companion, always ready for the next adventure. It's stocked with gear, maps, and enough provisions to last several days in the isolation of the forest.

Climbing into the driver's seat, I start the engine. The familiar rumble is a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. As I pull away from the house, the street lights flicker overhead, casting shadows that dance across the dashboard.

A weekend apart will be good for both Mark and me. Maybe some space will clear our heads, mend the rifts. After all, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? And if it doesn’t? Well, maybe I’ll meet a nice, rugged mountain man in a checkered shirt. Someone who understands the call of the wild. Someone as untamed as the myths I chase.