But they're also... possible? Maybe?
I keep writing, thinking through scenarios, planning contingencies. By the time the sun sets, I have ten pages of notes. It's not perfect, but it's a start.
A real start.
***
That night, I force myself to eat a proper dinner. Grilled chicken and roasted vegetables from the meal plan on the fridge. It's not as good as when Jennifer and I make it together, but I manage to eat it all. I need to get and stay healthy for any of my plans to work.
I take my evening blood pressure: 143 over 90.
Still elevated. Still wrong.
I need her. Not just because she makes me healthier, but because I want her here. Physically ache for her in ways I have never longed for another person before.
But I can't call her yet. Not until I've actually done something, not just planned it.
I lie in bed that night and stare at the ceiling, and I make myself a promise.
Tomorrow, I start. Tomorrow, I have the hard conversations and prove that I can choose differently.
And then, only then, I'll call her.
***
I wake up precisely at seven, and instead of feeling stressed, I’m calm. Today is the day. No more thinking. Today is about action. I’m taking my life back so I can start the life I want with the woman I love.
I take my morning meds, check my blood pressure (141/89—still high but stable), and make coffee. This time I pour only a single mug, but I’m hopeful that soon I can pour two.
Opening my laptop I schedule a video call with my board. Emergency meeting, I label it. Today at 2 p.m.
Allen calls within five minutes.
“Seth, what's going on? Are you okay? The hospital-”
“I'm fine. Stable. But we need to talk. You, me, and the full board.”
“Okay...” He sounds worried. “What's this about?”
“Succession planning. I'm stepping down as CEO.”
Silence on the other end. Then, “What?”
“You're going to be CEO, Allen. It's time. We'll do a formal transition over the next six months, but I'm stepping down.”
“Seth, you just had a health crisis. You're not thinking clearly-”
“I'm thinking clearly for the first time in years.” I lean back in my chair, elated at how good I’m feeling. “I nearly died five days ago, Allen. And you know what I realized? The company will be fine without me. Better, probably. You've been ready to take over for two years. I've been holding you back because I couldn't let go.”
The line goes silent, and then he says, “I don't know what to say.”
“Say you'll do it. Say you'll take care of the thing I built while I figure out how to actually live.”
Another pause. Then, quieter: “Okay. Yeah. Okay. I'll do it.”
“Good. I'll present the transition plan to the board this afternoon. We'll need to work out the details, the timeline, and the compensation restructuring. But Allen? Thank you. For being ready. For being someone I can trust with this.”
After we hang up, I sit for a moment in the quiet cabin and feel something I haven't felt in years.
