“I’m not coming home for your birthday this year. Not until you treat me better. I’m not giving up The Barkery. And I’m not apologizing for choosing happiness over your approval.” Tears stream down my face, but my voice stays strong. “I love you both. But I need you to either support me or step back. Those are the only options.”
I receive another long silence.
Then, surprisingly, my mother’s voice comes back softer. “We ... we didn’t realize.”
“That you were hurting me? That your constant criticism was making me doubt everything I’ve worked for?”
“We thought we were helping. Protecting you from making mistakes.”
“I’m going to make mistakes, Mom. That’s part of life. But they’re my mistakes to make and learn from.”
Her sigh is different from her usual disappointed sigh. This one sounds almost sad. “Okay. I understand. I hear you.”
It’s not acceptance. It’s barely acknowledgment. But it’s more than I’ve ever gotten before.
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
“We’ll call you next week. When we’ve had time to process.”
“Thanks.”
“And April?” Her voice cracks slightly. “I do want you to be happy. Even if I’ve had a terrible way of showing it.”
“I know, Mom.”
The call ends, and I lean against the bathroom counter, shaking. I did it. I finally stood up to them. Set boundaries. Said everything I needed to say.
I feel lighter. Terrified. Free.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Clark is awake, sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard. The dogs are still sprawled around him, and his hair is adorably messy from sleep.
But his eyes are hard when they meet mine. Serious.
He heard.
“Let’s walk the dogs,” he says quietly.
My nerve endings are on fire. The buffalo seek shelter. My entire body buzzes and I haven’t yet had an ounce of caffeine.
We grab coffee from the hotel lobby and drive to a nearby dog park in silence. The morning is cool and overcast, matching the tension between us.
At the park, we let the dogs off their leashes in an enclosed area. They immediately scatter—Moose chasing Scout, Buster investigating every smell, Purdy and Lulu playing tug-of-war with a stick.
Clark and I stand side by side at the fence, watching them, both clutching our coffees like lifelines.
“I heard your conversation with your mom,” he says finally.
My stomach clenches because I don’t think this is going to end well, but I faced my parents. I have to be mature about this. “I figured.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“It’s okay.” I take a sip of coffee, buying time. “I needed to say those things. Should have said them years ago.”
“You were brave.”
“I was terrified.”
“That’s what makes it brave.”
