Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~9 min read
Three weeks in Montana.
Iris can’t believe it’s been that long.
The roads cleared two weeks ago. She could leave anytime.
But she hasn’t.
Partly because Linda’s still working on the listing paperwork.
Partly because winter came early and driving feels dangerous.
But mostly?
She’s not ready to go yet.
The cabin has become familiar.
She knows which floorboards creak. Which burner on the stove runs hot. How to adjust the damper for maximum heat efficiency.
She can start a fire in under five minutes now.
Beck timed her last week. Looked almost impressed.
“Not bad. For a city girl.”
High praise from the mountain man.
She’s keeping count. Four almost-smiles. Two real smiles. One actual laugh.
Progress.
Her mornings have developed a routine.
Wake at dawn. The sunrise here is incredible.
Pink and gold spilling over mountains. Painting the snow luminescent.
She photographs it. Every morning. Never gets old.
Coffee on the porch. Even when it’s freezing.
The cold doesn’t bother her like it used to.
She’s adapted.
Bought proper winter clothes from the general store in town. Learned to layer. Invested in boots that actually keep her feet warm.
“You look almost local,” Beck said yesterday.
She chose to take it as a compliment.
After coffee, she chops firewood.
This task she once found impossible is now… satisfying?
The repetitive motion. The physical exertion. The immediate visible result.
Stack of split wood growing. Proof of competence.
Beck taught her the proper technique. How to read the grain. Where to aim. How to follow through.
She’s good at it now.
Really good.
“You’re a natural,” Beck admitted last week. “Most people take months to develop that skill. You got it in days.”
The pride she felt was disproportionate to the achievement.
But still. She felt it.
Her blog has changed.
She didn’t mean for it to happen.
But her content evolved.
Instead of Seattle coffee shops and restaurant reviews, she’s posting mountain sunrises. Forest walks. Cabin life.
The response has been overwhelming.
This is so different from your usual content! We love it!
Montana looks incredible. Are you moving there?
The authenticity is refreshing. Keep it coming!
Her follower count is growing faster than it did with latte art.
Turns out people want wilderness. Real life. Actual experiences.
Not just curated aesthetics.
Who knew?
Beck comes by most days.
To check on things. Make sure she’s surviving.
At least, that’s his excuse.
But he stays longer each time.
Shows her things. Teaches her skills she never knew she needed.
Yesterday, tracking.
“See these marks? Deer. Passed through this morning.”
“How can you tell?”
“Depth of the print. Frost displacement. The way the snow’s compressed.”
He’s patient. Thorough. A natural teacher.
And Iris is a surprisingly eager student.
She learns to identify animal tracks. Deer. Elk. Fox. Even bear.
“Why do I need to know this?” she asks.
“You don’t. But knowing things makes you less afraid. Fear comes from ignorance. Knowledge is power.”
It’s the most philosophical Beck’s ever been.
She writes it in her journal that night.
He teaches her fire-building without matches.
Friction method. Bow drill.
It takes her forty-five minutes and blistered hands.
But she gets ember. Then smoke. Then flame.
The achievement feels monumental.
“I made fire! From sticks!”
Beck is definitely smiling.
“Congratulations. You’ve achieved what humans figured out ten thousand years ago.”
“Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But he’s proud. She can tell.
And that makes her ridiculously happy.
They’re identifying edible plants when her phone rings.
Cell service has been spotty but functional lately.
Grant’s name on the screen.
She considers ignoring it.
Beck notices. Doesn’t comment.
But his expression shifts. Closes off slightly.
“I should take this.”
“I’ll check the perimeter. Make sure that bear hasn’t come back.”
He walks away.
Giving her privacy.
Iris answers.
“Grant.”
“Finally! You’ve been ignoring my calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? You’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Learning things. Living.”
“Iris, you’ve been gone three weeks. Your apartment rent is due. You have sponsorship obligations. You can’t just disappear.”
Guilt twists in her stomach.
He’s right. She has responsibilities.
“I’m handling everything remotely.”
“For how much longer? When are you coming back?”
Good question.
“Soon. The cabin’s almost ready to list.”
“Almost? What’s taking so long?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s a cabin. You list it. You sell it. You come home. Not complicated.”
He makes it sound simple.
Like Montana is just a task to complete.
Not a place that’s becoming… something else.
“I’ll be back soon,” she repeats.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Is it? Or are you hiding?”
“Hiding from what?”
“Real life. Responsibility. Whatever you’re running from this time.”
His words sting.
Because they’re familiar. The same accusations from their relationship.
That Iris avoids. Runs. Never commits fully.
“I’m not running.”
“Then come home.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer I have.”
Grant sighs.
“I’m worried about you. This isn’t like you. Staying in the wilderness. Going silent. Something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I am.”
Am I?
“Just… come back soon, okay? We miss you. Skye misses you. Your life is here.”
Is it?
“I know. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
She hangs up.
Feeling unsettled.
Guilty.
Confused.
Beck returns. Assesses her expression.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. Just my ex-boyfriend. Checking in.”
“Ex?”
“Very ex. We broke up six months ago. But he still thinks he has opinions about my life.”
“Does he?”
“No. But he’s also not wrong. I do have responsibilities. A life in Seattle. I can’t hide here forever.”
“You’re not hiding.”
“Aren’t I?”
Beck considers this.
“Maybe. But there’s a difference between hiding and figuring things out. Sometimes you need distance to see clearly.”
“Is that what you did? After Anna?”
“Yes.”
“Did it work?”
“Still working on it.”
Honest. As always.
“Do you regret it? Moving here? Being alone?”
Beck looks at the mountains. The forest. The endless sky.
“No. This place saved me. Gave me space to grieve without everyone watching. Waiting for me to be okay again. Here, I could just… exist. No expectations.”
“But you’re lonely.”
“Every day.”
“Then why stay?”
“Because lonely is better than performing okay when you’re not. At least here, I’m honest about it.”
Iris understands that.
More than she wants to admit.
They spend the afternoon together.
Not talking much. Just existing side by side.
Beck fixes a loose shutter. Iris organizes the shed.
Comfortable silence.
It’s nice.
No pressure to fill space with words.
No expectation of constant entertainment.
Just two people. Working. Coexisting.
She’s starting to understand the appeal.
That evening, Beck stays for dinner again.
It’s become their routine.
Three times a week, he brings ingredients. She cooks.
They eat together by the fire.
Tonight: venison stew. Bread from the bakery in town. Apple pie Beck made himself.
“You bake?” Iris asks, impressed.
“Living alone, you learn everything. Or you eat badly.”
“This is incredible.”
“It’s just pie.”
“It’s perfect pie. Don’t be modest.”
He almost smiles.
She’s definitely keeping count.
“Tell me about Seattle,” Beck says. “What’s your life like there?”
Iris considers.
“Busy. Constant. Always something to do. People to meet. Events to attend. Content to create.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is. But that’s the point. Stay busy. Don’t think too much.”
“What are you avoiding thinking about?”
Too perceptive.
“Everything. The fact that I’m twenty-eight and not where I thought I’d be. That my blog is successful but feels empty. That my relationships never last. That I don’t actually know what I want.”
She didn’t mean to say all that.
But it comes out anyway.
Beck doesn’t look surprised.
“And here? In the mountains?”
“Here, I can’t avoid thinking. The silence forces it. But maybe that’s good? Maybe I needed to stop running long enough to figure things out.”
“Have you? Figured things out?”
“I’m getting there.”
He nods.
“Margaret did the same thing. Came here running from something. Stayed because she found something better.”
“What was she running from?”
“Family expectations. A life that didn’t fit. The pressure to be someone she wasn’t.”
That sounds familiar.
“Did she have regrets? About leaving Seattle?”
“If she did, she never said. She seemed… at peace. Like she’d finally found where she belonged.”
“I don’t belong here.”
The words come automatically.
But they feel less certain than before.
Beck looks at her.
Really looks.
“Maybe not. Or maybe you haven’t let yourself consider it.”
He leaves before it gets too late.
But lingers at the door.
“You’re doing well. Adapting. Learning. Margaret would be proud.”
“You think?”
“I know. She always hoped you’d visit. See this place. Understand why she loved it.”
“I’m starting to.”
“Good.”
He walks into the night.
And Iris watches him go.
Thinking about what he said.
About hiding versus figuring things out.
About finding where you belong.
About Margaret, who ran from Seattle and found peace.
Could Iris do the same?
The thought is terrifying.
And appealing.
And impossible.
Isn’t it?
She posts to Instagram before bed.
A photo of the sunset. The mountains. The endless forest.
Week three in Montana. Still here. Still learning. Still figuring things out. The mountains are growing on me. Or maybe I’m just growing?
The comments come fast:
You look happier!
Montana suits you!
Are you staying???
Please don’t come back. This content is GOLD.
Grant texts: Saw your post. “Still figuring things out”? What does that mean?
Skye texts: Okay but are you ACTUALLY okay or are you having a wilderness-induced breakdown?
Her mom texts: Why are you still in Montana? I thought this was a weekend trip?
Everyone wants answers.
Iris doesn’t have them.
She’s just living day by day.
Learning. Adapting. Existing.
For the first time in years, not planning the next thing.
Just being present in this thing.
It’s strange.
Uncomfortable.
But also…
Kind of wonderful?
She falls asleep thinking about tomorrow.
About what Beck will teach her next.
About the mountains she’s starting to love.
About a life she didn’t plan.
That might be better than the one she did.
Maybe.
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