“These past days without you have been the worst of my life. Worse than the hospital. Worse than the initial collapse.” He takes a deep breath. “But they were also necessary. Because you were right about something else. I needed to sit with this alone. To figure out what I actually want, not what I think I should want.”
I moisten my lips, feeling myself trembling as I force out the question, “And what do you want?”
“You. This life. To be healthy enough to grow old together.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and pulls up a familiar app. “My blood pressure has been climbing since you left. Look- 142 over 89 that first night. 145 over 91 yesterday afternoon. My watch kept warning me about elevated stress. I wasn't sleeping, eating properly, and could barely move.”
He shows me the graphs, the red zones creeping back in.
“And then last night, after I made real decisions, after I took real action, it started coming back down. 132 over 84 by bedtime. 128 over 82 this morning.” He meets my eyes. “My body knows what's good for me even when my brain takes longer to figure it out.”
Despite myself, I feel a flutter of hope. “What real decisions?”
“That's what the report is for.” He gestures to the table. “Can I show you?”
I move to the small couch I salvaged from the curbside on trash day and sit down. He sits beside me, our thighs touching, and I breathe in the amazing scent of him as the warmth from his big body takes my chill away. He opens the binder to the first page, and my gaze moves over the page, and I read.
Operation: Choose Lifethe title reads.A Comprehensive Plan for Not Being an Idiot
I snort despite myself. “Subtle.”
“I am nothing if not self-aware.” He flips to the next page. “This is the six-month transition timeline. I called an emergency board meeting yesterday. Presented my resignation as CEO.”
I freeze. “You what?”
“I'm stepping down. My COO, Allen, is taking over. He's been ready for two years, but I've just been too controlling to let him. The board approved it. Reluctantly, they approved it.” He shows me printed emails, meeting notes, and the formal transition plan. “Months one through two, we announce and start leadership training. Months three through four, he shadows everything, and I step back from daily operations. Months five through six, final handoff. By the end of month six, I'm a board member only. Quarterly meetings. That's it.”
I stare at the documents, trying to process everything. From what I’m understanding he’s giving everything up. I shake my head, certain I’m mistaken. “Seth, this is your company. You built this from nothing. You’re leaving it? ”
“Yes, it will be fine without me. Better, probably.” He flips to another section. “Here's the data on successful founder transitions. Sixty-three percent of companies that do planned succession with strong COOs actually perform better after the founder steps back. The ones that fail are the ones where the founder can't actually let go, where they keep interfering.”
He looks at me. “I'm going to let go. Really let go.”
Hope fills me, but I’m cautious. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I have an accountability plan.” He shows me another section. “Weekly therapy appointments. I've already contacted three therapists in town and narrowed it down to two I want to interview. The daily health tracking continues along with monthly reviews. And I've built in an exit clause.”
“An exit clause?”
“If I start slipping back, if I start taking crisis calls, working more than twenty hours a week, letting my health metrics decline, there's an intervention plan. You, Allen, and my future therapist are the intervention team. You can force me to step back further or exit completely.”
I flip through the pages, and it's all there. Property listings for houses in town. THIS town. Home office setup plans. A list of potential consulting opportunities that are time-limited and project-based. Research on local doctors. Heart-healthy recipe collections. Exercise routines that include morning walks and yoga.
“Phase three,” he says, pointing to a section. “New life. I've been thinking about what I actually want to do with my time if I'm not running the company. Advisory work, maybe. Limited consulting. But also...” He hesitates. “I've been researching the hospitality industry.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“I’ve been enjoying my time here. The area is peaceful, and the cabin is comfortable.”
A grin tugs at my lips. Leave it to Seth to term a luxury cabin merely comfortable instead of extravagant. How many real cabins have huge showers, jacuzzi tubs, espresso machines, and come with housekeeping services? Silly man.
“I've been looking into things, and Mrs. Avery mentioned she’s been thinking of selling the resort.”
My heart starts beating faster. This is the first time I've heard of this. Guess I’ll be job hunting soon.
“What if we bought it?”
The words hang in the air between us, and all thoughts of my lack of job security disappear.
“We,” I repeat slowly, unsure if I’m hearing him correctly.
