But then I thought about morning chores with the goats following me around. The satisfaction of watching customers' faces light up when they tasted my produce at the market. The way Cal's eyes crinkled when he smiled, how naturally he fit into the rhythm of my life.
He belonged here as much as I was starting to.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, willing myself not to cry.
If Cal couldn't help me figure this out, I needed to talk to someone who'd been in a similar situation. Someone who'd made the choice to come back to Alder Creek after building a life somewhere else.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled to Abby's number. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Rosie. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” My voice came out small. “Can I ask you something? About leaving Chicago and coming back here?”
“Absolutely. Is this a 'glass of wine while sitting on the couch' kind of conversation?”
Relief flooded through me. “Yeah. It really is.”
“Give me thirty seconds to grab a bottle. Get yourself a glass, too.”
On the other end of the line, I heard her footsteps then cabinet doors opening. I stood and moved to the fridge, pulling out the half-empty bottle of white wine I'd opened last week. My hands were steadier as I poured, the familiar ritual already grounding me.
Something about having someone willing to sit with me through this—someone who'd understand—made the weight pressing on my chest feel slightly less crushing.
I settled back into the chair, cradling the glass in my hand.
“Okay,” Abby said, her voice warm through the phone. The cork popped in the background. “I'm back. Talk to me.”
I took a sip of wine and told her everything. About Lauren's offer, about the festival, about how it was exactly what I'd dreamed of before Aaron made me doubt everything about myself. About Cal's refusal to tell me what he wanted, how I felt like I was drowning in uncertainty.
“Oh, honey.” Abby sighed softly. “I get it. When I decided to officially move back, I kept waiting for someone to tell me I was crazy for leaving my firm in Chicago.”
“Were you? Crazy, I mean?”
“Probably.” She laughed. “But the good kind of crazy.”
I curled up in the chair, pulling my knees to my chest. “How did you know? That coming back was right?”
“I didn't. Not at first.” Abby paused, and I heard her take a sip. “Chicago was supposed to be this fresh start, but I eventually realized I was... hiding. The prestigious job, the city apartment, it all looked perfect on paper but I was miserable.”
“This job offer... it's not like that. It's what Iwantto do.” I shifted in the chair, trying to find the words. “I mean, this isn't some soul-crushing desk job. Lauren's offering me exactly what I studied for, what I dreamed about. It's the kind of work that made me fall in love with design in the first place.”
“Rosie,” Abby said, her voice gentle. “If this is everything you want professionally, if it's this perfect opportunity and you know you'd be amazing at it... what's holding you back?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. The question hung in the air, simple and devastating.
Because if it truly was everything I wanted, if it was the obvious choice, I wouldn't be sitting here in my kitchen at nine o'clock at night, calling someone for reassurance. I wouldn't have spent the entire drive home with tears threatening to spill over.
“I'm… I'm terrified I'll screw up again,” I whispered into the phone. “I thought I knew what I wanted before. I had this whole plan, this vision of my life, and then I met Aaron and just... lost myself completely. What if I do that again? What if I go back to Seattle and fall into the same trap?”
“Rosie—”
“No, listen.” I set my wine glass down, my hand trembling slightly. “I spent three years becoming someone I didn't recognize. Smaller, constantly second-guessing myself. I let him convince me my dreams were impractical, that I needed to be more... I don't know,appropriate. And I bought into all of it.”
“Okay, but why?” Abby's voice turned sharper, more direct. “Why did you let him do that to you?”
I flinched at the bluntness of the question. “It wasn't like I woke up one day and decided to become a doormat, Abby. He was older, seemed so sure of himself. And my dad loved him—kept telling me how responsible he was. It felt like I wasfinallydoing something right.”
I stood up, pacing to the kitchen window.
