“She moved to LA with my dad after he divorced our mom. You’ve probably seen her videos. She runs Cake Bae with her boyfriend.”
All I can do is gape. “Cake Bae?”
“Yeah, she makes those cakes that look like real objects.”
“I—I know who she is. I can’t believe this. Am I the only one without a famous sibling? I love her videos. She makes celebrity wedding cakes too.”
“Yep, she’s very talented.”
“That’s an understatement. I hope you can work things out with her.”
“We will.”
“Well, thank you for chatting and thank you for the ride back.”
“Hey, I wanted to get out of there. Driving back with a crew smelling like fish is no fun.”
We finally arrive back at the lodge. The afternoon sun feels welcome on my face as I step out of the Jeep. “I’ll get this sweatshirt back to you,” I say, closing the door.
“Sure, whenever. You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m a little soggy and embarrassed, but I’m good, really.”
“Okay, get some rest. One of us will check on you later.” She smiles and waves before pulling away.
The gravity of the day doesn’t fully hit me until I close the door to my room, which has been freshly cleaned. I slip out of the rest of my clothes and into the hottest shower my skin will tolerate. I tie my robe tight around me, dry my hair, and slip into the comforting embrace of my bed.
I close my eyes, which feel so heavy, but all I can hear is the rush of the river and one line that cuts through it like a lifeline.
I’ve got you, Trouble.
That line keeps echoing in my ear. Even with everything rushing around us, he said it with such certainty. I open my eyes remembering Duke’s expression, filled with worry, as he worked to revive me.
The worst part about that line is … I liked it.
Even half-frozen and humiliated, part of me wanted to lean into it—into him.
Ugly, angry sobs claw their way out of my chest. My face burrows into my pillow, desperate to muffle the sound, but not even feather-down can dampen the volume of my cries.
The dam I’ve built inside myself doesn’t just break. It shatters.
I cry like I haven’t in years.
Not only from what happened on the river or even the embarrassment of my scar being exposed, but from all the garbage I’ve been holding onto since I was last in Colorado. These tears aren’t only about today, they’re years of grit, grief, and longing, stuffed deep down so I could keep pretending I had it all handled.
That’s what women are supposed to do, right?
I shift in the bed reaching for my tissue box on the nightstand and the spare notebook I keep in the drawer for any thought that starts to hammer in my head at 2 a.m. I feel this in my bones and that’s why I want to write it down.
Women live in a world that praises our strength, our audacity, our unshakable resolve. And yes, we are strong. We carry more than most people will ever know.
But somewhere along the way, the world started confusing strength and resilience with imperviousness. As if showing emotion makes women fragile. As if vulnerability is a crack in the armor instead of a sign we’ve been through battle.
We’re expected to keep it all in. Keep it together. Never crack. Never cry. Never need. That’s the definition of a badass woman.
But here’s the truth no one puts on a movie poster: strength isn’tabout never showing emotion. Sometimes the strongest thing a woman can do is let herself fall apart, because then, and only then, can she begin again.
I set my pen down and release an exhausted breath. I blow my nose and keep putting my thoughts to paper.Is this why I had to come to Colorado? To fall apart so I can put myself back together again?
