I hesitate. “Maybe not right away.”
Her lip wobbles. “But I like it here. I don’t wanna leave the pony. Or Sugar. Or Cash. Or the barn.”
I swallow hard. “I know, baby. I just want to make the best choice for us.”
She stares down at her picture again, her fingers tightening around the crayon until it snaps. Her shoulders slump, and she draws a little red heart in the corner with slow, deliberate strokes, blinking fast as tears gather but don’t quite fall. “I already like it here,” she says quietly. “You laugh more. And I get to help feed the horses.”
It’s so simple. So pure. But her words cut through all the noise in my head.
That night, when I tuck her into bed, she hugs her stuffed pony to her chest and whispers, “Can we stay, Mommy?”
I kiss her forehead, the lump in my throat growing. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
I close her door and lean against the frame, pressing my palm to my chest.
Later, when the house is still and the only sound is the ticking clock in the hallway, I slip into the bathroom and quietly turn the faucet on, just enough to mask the sound. My legs give way beneath me, and I slide down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest.
The tears come hard and fast, soaking into my sleeves as I try to hold it all in. The pressure, the guilt, the impossible choice, I let it break me here, alone in the quiet. No one to be strong for. Just me, unraveling.
Because that’s the truth I can’t shake.
This decision isn’t just about what fulfills me—it’s about the life Emmy wakes up to every morning. The joy she feels when her boots hit the porch. The way she lights up when Cash lifts her onto a saddle.
And maybe ambition is important. Maybe purpose matters.
But maybe, just maybe, my greatest legacy isn’t what I build in boardrooms, but who I raise in barns.
I don’t sleep. I toss and turn, staring at the ceiling, feeling every second slip away like sand through my fingers. By the time the sun starts stretching across the hills, my suitcase is packed and resting by the door.
Cash meets me in the kitchen, coffee in hand, his hair tousled, his eyes shadowed but calm. “You sure?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “But I have to see it through. Just one day. Just one meeting for now.”
He nods, but something flickers in his eyes, something like worry wrapped in quiet strength. “Then go. You’ll never know unless you face it head-on.”
Harper hugs me tight by the truck. “Take notes. And if the coffee sucks, don’t take the job.”
I smile through the nerves and tension curling in my stomach. “Copy that.”
Cash walks me to the driver’s side, his hand brushing mine before he opens the door. “We’ll be here when you get back,” he says. “Me and Emmy, and Sugar, who might just miss you most.”
I laugh, but my throat tightens as I climb in and close the door. He taps the roof twice, then steps back, and Ihate how quickly the ranch disappears in the rearview mirror.
Halfway down the long gravel drive, I glance at the drawing Emmy left folded inside my planner. It’s crooked and colorful, me, her, and Cash standing in front of the barn. She’s added a rainbow and drawn hearts above all our heads.
It breaks something open in me.
But still… I drive.
The city rises out of the horizon like a challenge. Sleek, fast, efficient. Everything I used to crave. I remember the rush of office elevators, the thrill of big pitches under harsh fluorescents, late-night takeout and glowing screens.
Back then, it felt like power. Like purpose. But now, that glitter feels colder. Emptier. Like something I once mistook for home. But as I merge onto the highway and the open land falls behind me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve already left more than just a ranch behind.
I’ve left home.
My head is spinning like I'm on an unwanted ride at an amusement park.
Chapter nineteen
