Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~9 min read
The legal notice arrives Monday morning.
Certified mail. Official seal.
Iris signs for it with dread.
Opens it.
Reads.
Can’t breathe.
Her mother is suing.
For the cabin.
Claiming she’s the rightful heir.
That Margaret was mentally incompetent when she made the will.
That Iris unduly influenced her.
Which is impossible since Iris never even visited.
But logic doesn’t matter in lawsuits.
Just claims. Accusations. Legal maneuvering.
The letter details it all.
Susan Chen is contesting the will.
Demanding the cabin be transferred to her as next of kin.
Claiming Margaret’s estrangement from family proves instability.
That leaving everything to a niece she barely knew shows impaired judgment.
It’s cruel.
Revisionist.
And potentially effective.
Iris calls Linda immediately.
“Did you see this?”
“Just got served myself. I’m so sorry, Iris. Your mother’s lawyer is aggressive.”
“Can she actually win?”
“It’s complicated. Montana law favors the will. But if they can prove incompetence or undue influence, maybe. We’ll need to fight this.”
“How?”
“Documentation. Proof of Margaret’s mental capacity. Evidence she intentionally excluded your mother. Her letters and journals might help.”
The letters.
The ones Iris found in the cabin.
Proof of Margaret’s reasoning.
Her choice.
Her sanity.
“I have letters. Between Margaret and my mom. Showing the estrangement was my mother’s choice. Not mental illness.”
“That’s perfect. Send copies immediately. We’ll need them for the defense.”
Defense.
Iris has to defend her inheritance.
Against her own mother.
This is a nightmare.
She calls Skye.
“My mom’s suing me for the cabin.”
“WHAT.”
“Claims Margaret was incompetent. That I manipulated her. Even though I never visited.”
“Your mom is unbelievable.”
“She wants the cabin. Probably to sell it. For money she thinks she deserves.”
“Can you fight this?”
“I have to. Margaret left it to me for a reason. I’m not letting my mom steal it.”
“Good. Fight. And if you need anything—”
“I need to go to Montana. Get those letters. Build a defense.”
“So go.”
“I have work.”
“Take a few days. Emergency leave. Family crisis. Which this is.”
She’s right.
Iris emails her manager immediately.
Family emergency. Need a few days in Montana. Will work remotely.
The response comes fast:
Approved. But we need content soon. The Montana trip could be good material. Document it?
Document her family crisis.
Turn trauma into content.
The request feels gross.
But if it gets her to Montana, she’ll do it.
She books a flight that afternoon.
Drives to Montana feels too long.
She needs to be there now.
Needs the letters. The cabin. The truth.
Needs Beck.
Even though she doesn’t say it.
Even though she’s not sure he wants to see her.
She needs him anyway.
The flight is Tuesday evening.
She lands in Bozeman at 10 PM.
Rents a car. Drives through darkness.
Familiar route now.
Her hands know when to turn. When to slow.
Muscle memory from three months of living there.
The cabin appears.
Dark. Empty. Waiting.
She unlocks the door.
Flips on lights.
Everything’s the same.
But different.
Dusty. Cold. Abandoned.
Like a place she used to love.
Not a place she lives.
She drops her bag.
Collapses on the couch.
And cries.
For Margaret. For the lawsuit. For everything.
Morning.
Iris wakes to sunlight.
Montana sunlight. Different than Seattle.
Brighter. Cleaner. Home.
She makes coffee with the French press.
Still here. Still working.
Like it waited for her.
Sits on the porch.
Mountains in the distance.
God, she missed this.
Missed it so much it hurts.
She goes through the cabin systematically.
Looking for anything that proves Margaret’s competence.
Letters. Journals. Documents.
Evidence.
She finds more than expected.
Margaret kept everything.
Medical records showing perfect health.
Cognitive assessments from two years ago—all normal.
Letters from friends describing her sharp mind. Her intentional choices.
Journal entries detailing exactly why she excluded Susan.
It’s all here.
Proof.
Margaret wasn’t incompetent.
She was deliberate.
One journal entry stands out:
Susan called again. Demanded I change my will. Leave everything to her, not Iris. Said Iris doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t care about family. I told her that’s exactly why Iris gets it. Because she’s not poisoned by our family drama. She has a chance at something real. Something authentic. I hope she finds it here. Like I did. And I hope she keeps it from Susan. Who would destroy this place. Sell it. Erase everything it represents. My freedom. My choice. My life on my terms. Iris deserves that chance. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Dated six months before Margaret died.
Clear. Coherent. Intentional.
Perfect evidence.
There’s a knock.
Iris jumps.
Opens the door.
Beck.
Standing there. Snow in his hair. Looking uncertain.
“Saw your car. Figured you were back.”
“Emergency. Family thing.”
“Everything okay?”
“My mom’s suing me for the cabin.”
His expression darkens.
“What?”
“Claims Margaret was incompetent. That I shouldn’t have inherited.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. But I have to fight it. Needed the letters. Documentation. Proof.”
“Do you have it?”
“I think so. Margaret kept everything.”
Beck steps inside.
“Can I help?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. But I want to. Margaret mattered to me. This place matters. Your mom doesn’t get to destroy that.”
Iris could cry.
From relief. Gratitude. The comfort of not being alone.
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
That word again.
Meaning everything.
They spend the afternoon organizing documents.
Beck reads letters. Iris scans journals.
Building a timeline.
Proving Margaret’s competence. Her reasoning. Her deliberate choice.
“Your mom really hurt her,” Beck observes.
“I know. I didn’t understand until I found these letters. The years of rejection. Judgment. Cruelty.”
“And now she wants the cabin anyway?”
“She wants the money. That’s all she’s ever wanted. Control and money.”
“She won’t get it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the evidence is clear. Margaret was sane. Intentional. And you’re going to fight. That’s enough.”
She hopes he’s right.
Evening.
They order pizza from town.
Eat by the fire.
Like old times.
Except not.
There’s distance now.
Awareness that Iris left. Chose Seattle. Hurt him.
“How’s Seattle?” Beck asks.
“Terrible.”
“The job?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine. Technically. But I’m miserable.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not here. Not you. Not this life.”
Beck is quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Iris continues. “For leaving. For choosing wrong. For everything.”
“You chose what you thought was right.”
“I chose what was safe. Smart. Expected. Not what I actually wanted.”
“And what did you want?”
“This. You. Montana. All of it.”
“Past tense?”
“Present. I still want it. But I’m trapped. Contract. Job. Legal obligations.”
“Nothing’s permanent.”
“Six-figure breach penalties feel pretty permanent.”
Beck winces.
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah.”
They fall silent.
The fire crackling.
So much unsaid.
“Can I ask you something?” Beck says.
“Anything.”
“If you could walk away. No penalties. No consequences. Would you?”
“From Seattle?”
“Yeah.”
Iris doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes. Immediately. Without question.”
“Then find a way.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“It is. You just don’t want it to be. Because if it’s complicated, you don’t have to make the hard choice.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s true. You’re afraid. Of failing. Of admitting you were wrong. Of what people will think.”
“So?”
“So stop being afraid. Margaret wasn’t. She chose herself. Consequences be damned. You can too.”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
“She had nothing to lose. I have a career. A reputation. People depending on me.”
“And how’s that working out? Are you happy meeting those expectations?”
No.
She’s miserable.
“I can’t just quit.”
“You can. You won’t. There’s a difference.”
He’s right.
And it’s infuriating.
They don’t resolve it.
Just sit together.
Existing in the tension.
Iris on one end of the couch. Beck on the other.
So close.
Impossibly far.
“Can I stay tonight?” Iris asks. “In the cabin. Just… being here helps.”
“Of course. It’s your place.”
“Doesn’t feel like mine anymore.”
“It is. Even if you’re not here. This is yours. Your inheritance. Your choice. Don’t let anyone take that.”
He stands.
Hesitates.
“I should go.”
“Stay.”
“Iris—”
“Please. I don’t want to be alone. We don’t have to… anything. Just be here. With me.”
He stays.
They lie in bed together.
Not touching.
Just breathing.
Existence.
It’s not enough.
But it’s something.
Morning.
Iris wakes tangled with Beck.
Her head on his chest. His arm around her.
Like always.
Like they never left.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t want to break the spell.
Beck’s awake. She can tell by his breathing.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi.”
“I missed this.”
“Me too.”
They lie there.
Knowing it’s temporary.
Knowing she has to go back to Seattle.
Knowing this changes nothing.
But needing it anyway.
Beck helps her pack up documents.
Everything she needs for the lawyer.
Evidence of Margaret’s competence.
Proof of intent.
Defense against her mother’s claims.
“You’re going to win this,” Beck says.
“I hope so.”
“I know so. Margaret chose you. For good reason. Trust that.”
Iris looks around the cabin.
Her inheritance. Her connection to Margaret.
Her home.
She’s not giving it up.
Not to her mother. Not to anyone.
This is hers.
And she’s fighting for it.
She has to leave that afternoon.
Flight back to Seattle. Back to work. Back to the wrong life.
Beck walks her to the car.
“Thank you,” Iris says. “For helping. For being here. For everything.”
“I’m always here. When you need me.”
“What if I always need you?”
“Then figure out how to stay.”
Simple.
Impossible.
True.
She kisses him.
One last time.
Then drives away.
Again.
Leaving Montana.
Leaving Beck.
Leaving home.
But this time, something’s different.
This time, she’s not giving up.
She’s fighting.
For the cabin. For Margaret’s legacy.
And maybe, if she’s brave enough, for herself.
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