I huffed out a breath as I stared at the faint crack in the ceiling, gathering words I usually kept buried.
“I grew up on my family’s farm,” I said finally. “It was a slow life, each day was pretty much the same. I spent more time doing that than anything else because I had to learn it all so I could take it over when my parents got too old to manage it themselves.”
“And you didn’t want it?” she asked.
“I thought I did. For a while.” I paused. “But I wanted more than that life.”
“So you left.”
“Joined the Marine Corps,” I said. “Haven’t been back since.”
Her breath held just enough to tell me she felt it.
“Were they okay with that?” she asked carefully.
I let out a humorless laugh. “No.”
Seventeen years pressed down on my chest all at once.
“I was twenty when I left for boot camp, two years after I graduated high school. Stuck around long enough to know exactly how my life would look if I stayed and it’s not the life I wanted.”
I could picture it even now, just as if I was there. The early mornings. The dirt under my nails. The weight of expectation was heavier than any pack I’d ever carried.
“I loved the horses,” I admitted. “Riding was the one time I really felt excitement out there.”
“That sounds nice,” Dani said.
“It was.” I said.
I swallowed.
“So what really made you leave?” she asked, this time more obvious with her curiosity.
“My dad was a tough man. Everything was work. You didn’t talk about what you wanted, you did what was handed to you, and you were grateful.” I could almost hear his voice before continuing, “And I realized one day that I didn’t want to die in that small town without ever seeing what else was out there.”
“I take it they were not too thrilled about that,”
“Basically” I said.
It hadn’t happen all at once. It started with shorter conversations, then missed holidays, and eventually nothing. Even after Elena had died and Harper was born, they stayed there and I build a life here. It had been a long time since I’d spoken to my family, let alone saw them.
“I’m sorry,” Dani said finally. “I think I get it though. You’re someone who chose himself and not everyone understands that.”
“I don’t know about that,” I muttered.
“I do,” she said. “My parents immigrated here just before I was born. I’m first-gen. A lot of expectations.” She hesitated, and her voice wavered just enough for me to hear the weight underneath the words. “Sometimes it felt like every choice I made had to mean something. Like if I didn’t go after the big things—good grades, a great job—I was letting them down.”
I could hear it then, an unfamiliar edge beneath her brightness. Maybe it was the way she hesitated, her voice faltering ever so slightly as if grounding herself. “They sacrificed everything,” she continued. “So sometimes it feels like wanting something different is… ungrateful.”
“That pressure doesn’t disappear,” I said.
“Nope,” she agreed. “You just learn how to live with it.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Guess that makes sense.”
A beat passed, then her tone shifted—lighter, teasing, like she knew exactly when to pull me back from the edge.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I think the cowboy-to-Marine detour worked out.”
