And for the first time in years, I believed I would be.
The next two weeks were a whirlwind of lawyers and paperwork. David was brilliant—patient when they stalled, firm when they pushed, always protecting my interests while keeping things professional. Eventually, the contracts were dissolved, the checks written, the freedom purchased.
I packed up my house methodically, each room a goodbye to someone I used to be. The designer clothes went to charity—thousands of dollars of fabric that had never felt like me. The awards went into storage—maybe someday I'd want to remember this part of my life, but not now. The furniture was sold with the house, everything staying in place for the new owner.
I kept only what mattered: my original guitar, notebooks full of songs, a few photos from before everything got complicated, and ironically, one designer dress—a simple yellow sundress that actually felt like me.
The house sold to a tech executive who'd probably never sit on the deck and watch the sunset. Helen, my realtor—a grandmother who brought homemade cookies to every meeting—handled everything with efficiency and kindness.
"You seem lighter," she said at the closing. "Like you're going toward something instead of away."
"I am," I told her. "I'm going home."
Every night, Liam called at exactly eight o'clock.
"How was today?" he'd ask, and I could hear the ache in his voice.
"Better. Freer. One step closer to you."
"When are you coming home?"
"Soon," I'd promise, not telling him I'd already booked my flight, already called Louisa with my plan.
My last night in LA,I called Louisa from my empty house.
"I need your help," I said. "I want to surprise him."
“Oh, honey, anything. When are you coming home?"
"Tomorrow. But not to the ranch. There's an open mic night at Murphy's Pub on Thursday, right?"
She chuckled. ”Every Thursday for the last twenty years."
"Can you get him there? Without telling him why?"
I could hear her smile through the phone. "Leave it to me. The whole family will suddenly need to go hear some local music."
"Thank you. For everything. For accepting me, for protecting me, for?—"
"Hush now. You're family. This is what family does."
After we hung up, I sat with my guitar in the empty house, city lights twinkling below like fallen stars. I played through the song I'd written for Liam, the one I'd perform tomorrow night. Not Stevie Wilson's polished performance, just his Stephy with a guitar and something true to say.
My phone rang. His nightly call.
“Lee.” I could hear the smile in my voice.
"Hey, sweetheart. Poet tried to escape today. Made it halfway to the road before Clay caught her. I swear she was heading to the airport."
I laughed, already aching to see them both. "How did she know which direction?"
"Horse intuition. She knows you're coming home. Even if you won't tell us when,” he grumbled.
I bit back my smile. “Soon."
“Yeah, you keep saying that. Beginning to think soon is some made-up time construct to keep me on my toes.”
I giggled. “Because it keeps being true."
