Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~8 min read
Week one in Seattle.
Iris unpacks.
Sets up the apartment. Arranges furniture. Makes it functional.
But it doesn’t feel like home.
Just a place she sleeps.
Between Montana and nowhere.
The job starts Monday.
Orientation. Meeting the team. Learning systems.
Everyone’s excited. Welcoming.
“We’re so thrilled to have you!”
“Your Montana content was amazing. So authentic!”
“Can’t wait to see what you create for us!”
Iris smiles. Nods. Says the right things.
But inside, she’s hollow.
This is what she wanted.
Right?
Skye visits Tuesday night.
Takes one look at Iris and knows.
“You’re miserable.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar. You look like someone died.”
“Just adjusting. New job. New apartment. It’s a lot.”
“Or you left your heart in Montana and don’t know how to function without it.”
Too accurate.
“I made the right choice. Career first. This is what I worked for.”
“Do you actually believe that?”
“I have to. I burned the bridge. There’s no going back.”
“There’s always going back. If you want it enough.”
Does she?
Want it enough to admit she was wrong?
To disappoint everyone?
To risk everything again?
She doesn’t know.
Work is fine.
Actually, it’s great.
The team is talented. Creative. Fun.
The projects are exciting. High-profile. Exactly what she dreamed about.
She should be thrilled.
She’s numb instead.
Going through motions.
Creating content that feels empty.
Performing again.
The thing she escaped Montana to avoid.
But here she is. Back in the performance.
Smiling for cameras. Curating moments. Being “on” constantly.
It’s exhausting.
She forgot how exhausting.
Her first branded post goes live Friday.
Outdoor gear. Perfect for hiking. Montana-inspired aesthetic.
The irony isn’t lost on her.
Selling Montana lifestyle while living in Seattle.
While missing Montana desperately.
The post performs well.
Tons of engagement. Comments. Shares.
Love this!
Where was this taken?
You’re glowing!
She’s not glowing.
She’s dying inside.
But the camera doesn’t capture that.
Weekend.
Skye drags her to brunch.
Their old spot. Trendy place in Capitol Hill.
It’s loud. Crowded. Chaotic.
Everything Seattle is.
Iris used to love it.
Now it’s overwhelming.
Too much noise. Too many people.
Too much everything.
“You haven’t touched your food,” Skye observes.
“Not hungry.”
“You’re never hungry anymore. That’s concerning.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that. You’re clearly not fine.”
Skye leans forward.
“Talk to me. For real. What’s going on?”
Iris breaks.
“I made a mistake. Coming back. Leaving Beck. Choosing this over Montana. All of it. One giant mistake.”
“So fix it.”
“How? I signed a year contract. Can’t just quit.”
“Can’t you?”
“Not without destroying my reputation. Burning professional bridges. Looking completely unreliable.”
“But you’d be happy.”
“Would I? Or would I just be running again? From responsibility. From commitment. From hard things.”
“There’s a difference between running from hard things and running toward the right things.”
“How do I know which is which?”
“You know. You just don’t want to admit it.”
She texts Beck that night.
First time since arriving.
How are you?
His response comes hours later:
Surviving. You?
Same.
Is the job good?
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
She’s lying.
He probably knows.
I miss you, she types. Deletes. Types again.
Finally sends: Montana’s beautiful this time of year I bet.
It is. Everything’s freezing. Beautiful. Lonely.
Lonely.
One word. So much pain.
She wants to say: I’m lonely too. I made a mistake. I’m coming back.
But she can’t.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Take care of yourself, she sends instead.
You too.
The conversation ends.
Inadequate. Painful. Necessary.
She cries herself to sleep.
Again.
Week two.
First big project.
Collaboration with other influencers. Photo shoot. Content creation day.
It’s supposed to be fun.
Iris feels nothing.
The other influencers are nice. Talented. Enthusiastic.
She tries to match their energy.
Fails.
“You okay?” one asks. “You seem… distant.”
“Just tired. New job. Adjusting.”
“I get it. But this is amazing, right? This opportunity? This is what we all dream about!”
Is it?
Iris used to think so.
Now she’s not sure what she dreams about.
Except mountains.
And a grumpy man with kind eyes.
And a cabin that felt like home.
Grant texts her.
Heard you’re back. Want to grab coffee?
Absolutely not.
Busy with the new job. But thanks.
I told you you’d come back. This is where you belong.
He’s wrong.
Seattle isn’t where she belongs.
But Montana isn’t either.
Not anymore.
She burned that bridge.
Now she’s nowhere.
Belonging to nothing.
The apartment stays cold.
She turns up the heat.
Doesn’t help.
It’s not temperature cold.
It’s soul cold.
Empty cold.
Missing-something-essential cold.
She bought plants. Decorations. Things to make it cozy.
Nothing works.
It’s just a place.
Not a home.
Maybe because home is a person.
And that person is 400 miles away.
Living without her.
Like she’s living without him.
Badly.
Week three.
Performance review already.
Her manager is concerned.
“Your content is technically perfect. But it lacks… spark. The energy we saw in your Montana posts. What happened to that?”
“I left it in Montana.”
She doesn’t say it out loud.
Just thinks it.
“I’m still adjusting. Finding my rhythm. It’ll come.”
“I hope so. We hired you for authenticity. That’s missing right now.”
Authenticity.
The thing she can’t fake.
The thing she found in Montana.
Lost in Seattle.
Can’t recreate on demand.
Skye stages an intervention Thursday night.
Shows up with wine and pizza.
“We’re talking. For real this time. No deflecting.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You’re miserable. Obviously. Dramatically. It’s painful to watch.”
“I’m just adjusting.”
“It’s been three weeks. You’re not adjusting. You’re withering.”
The word hits.
Withering.
That’s exactly what’s happening.
Seattle is killing something in her.
The something Montana awakened.
The real her.
“I don’t know what to do,” Iris admits.
“Go back.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d be failing. Admitting I was wrong. Disappointing everyone.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“My agent. The brand. My followers. Myself.”
“And what about Beck?”
“What about him?”
“Did you disappoint him by leaving?”
“Probably. But he told me to go. To choose my career.”
“Because he loves you. But that doesn’t mean he wanted you to leave.”
Iris knows this.
Has known it all along.
Beck let her go because he thought it was what she needed.
Not because he wanted her gone.
“Even if I wanted to go back, it’s too late. I signed a contract. Started the job. I can’t just quit three weeks in.”
“Why not?”
“Professional suicide. I’d never work in this industry again.”
“But would you want to? Work in an industry that makes you this miserable?”
Valid question.
One Iris doesn’t have an answer for.
She lies awake that night.
Thinking about Skye’s words.
Professional suicide.
Career over.
Reputation destroyed.
Everything she worked for. Gone.
But what’s the alternative?
Stay in Seattle. Honor the contract. Be miserable for a year.
Then what?
Would Montana still be there?
Would Beck?
She doesn’t know.
Can’t know.
But the uncertainty is killing her.
Friday.
Another branded post.
Hiking boots. Performance wear. Mountain aesthetic.
She’s literally selling the lifestyle she abandoned.
The irony is crushing.
Comments flood in:
When are you going back to Montana?
Miss the cabin content!
You seem different. Everything okay?
Her followers notice.
Even through carefully curated posts.
The emptiness shows.
She calls her agent.
“I need to talk about the contract.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I don’t think this is working.”
Silence.
Then: “It’s been three weeks.”
“I know. But I’m not happy. The work isn’t authentic. They can tell. My manager can tell.”
“So find the authenticity. You’re a professional. Figure it out.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then you’re in breach of contract. Which means legal issues. Financial penalties. And professional blacklisting.”
“How much are the financial penalties?”
“Six figures. Everything you’d make on the contract, plus damages.”
She doesn’t have six figures.
She’s trapped.
Legally. Financially. Professionally.
Made her choice.
Now she has to live with it.
Even if it’s killing her.
Weekend.
Iris stays in the apartment.
Doesn’t go out. Doesn’t create content.
Just exists.
Barely.
Scrolling through photos from Montana.
Beck chopping wood. Mountains at sunrise. The cabin covered in snow.
Her old life.
The one she chose to leave.
Biggest mistake she ever made.
And she can’t fix it.
Not without destroying everything else.
So she’s stuck.
In Seattle.
In the wrong life.
Dying slowly.
One day at a time.
Sunday night, she texts Beck.
I made a mistake.
Hours pass. No response.
She’s given up when her phone buzzes.
What kind of mistake?
Leaving. Choosing this. All of it.
You’re not happy?
Miserable.
Then come back.
I can’t. Contract. Job. I’m legally bound for a year.
Nothing’s permanent. If you want out, find a way.
It’s not that simple.
It never is. But if you’re this unhappy, what’s the alternative? Suffer for a year?
He’s right.
Again.
Always right.
I don’t know what to do.
Figure out what you want. Then fight for it. That’s all any of us can do.
Simple advice.
Impossible execution.
But maybe he’s right.
Maybe she needs to fight.
For herself.
For her happiness.
For the life she actually wants.
Even if it’s hard.
Especially because it’s hard.
The best things always are.
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