Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~9 min read
Chapter 22: One Month
Sloane
*One month later*
I hate New York.
I’ve been back for four weeks, and every single day makes me hate it more. The noise is unbearable—sirens and traffic and construction and millions of people all talking at once, creating a constant assault on my senses that makes my head pound. The crowds make me feel claustrophobic, all these bodies pressing together in subway cars and on sidewalks, everyone in their own bubble, isolated despite being surrounded by humanity.
It all feels so fake.
So meaningless.
I’m sitting in a conference room at the law firm, supposedly listening to a senior partner drone on about billable hours and client retention, but all I can think about is how quiet the cabin was. How peaceful. How real.
How much I miss Jackson.
It’s been a month since the helicopter took me away from him, and I haven’t heard from him once. Not a call, not a text, not a letter. Nothing. And I know he doesn’t have cell service at the cabin, know he rarely comes to town, but the silence still hurts. Makes me wonder if he’s already convinced himself that I’m not coming back, that this is over, that we were just a temporary thing.
But I’m coming back.
I’ve already given my notice at the firm—two months, which they insisted on despite the fact that I’d rather leave tomorrow. I’ve listed my apartment with a realtor. I’ve started packing up my life, sorting through ten years of accumulated belongings and realizing how little of it actually matters.
I’m going back to Montana.
The only question is whether Jackson will still want me when I get there.
“Sloane? Sloane!”
I snap back to attention to find everyone staring at me.
“Sorry, what?”
The senior partner looks annoyed. “I asked if you’d reviewed the Hoffman merger documents.”
“Yes. They’re on your desk.” They’re not. I haven’t even looked at them. Can’t bring myself to care about a merger that’s just going to make rich people richer.
After the meeting, I escape to the break room for coffee, and that’s where Kenzie finds me.
Kenzie Rodriguez, my best friend from college, who drove down from Boston the day after I got back to make sure I was okay. She’s been my lifeline over the past month, the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind when I talk about going back to Montana.
“You look miserable,” she says, pouring herself coffee.
“I am miserable.” I lean against the counter. “Is it Friday yet?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“Fuck.”
She laughs. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” I take a sip of coffee that tastes like burnt water compared to what Jackson made in his French press. “I don’t know how I did this for ten years, Kenz. How did I survive this?”
“You didn’t,” she says bluntly. “You just existed. Went through the motions. This is the first time I’ve seen you actually alive in… god, maybe ever.”
“I was alive for two weeks in a cabin with no running water,” I say, and even saying it out loud sounds insane. “And now I’m back in civilization and I’m dying.”
“Then quit,” she says simply. “Stop waiting out your notice period and just quit. Today. Right now.”
“I can’t. I need the reference, need to leave on good terms in case—”
“In case what? In case mountain man doesn’t work out and you need to come crawling back?” She raises an eyebrow. “Sloane, if you’re going to make this leap, actually make it. Don’t keep one foot in your old life as a safety net. That’s not fair to you or to him.”
She’s right. God, she’s right.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, which is as close to agreement as I can get right now.
Later that afternoon, I meet my other “friends” for our standing Tuesday happy hour. These are the people I used to think mattered—fellow lawyers, all of us trapped in the same gilded cage, all of us pretending we’re happy.
I sit at the table and immediately want to leave.
“Oh my god, Sloane!” Miranda from corporate law leans forward with fake concern. “We heard about your ordeal! You were KIDNAPPED by weather! That must have been so traumatic!”
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” I say slowly. “I got lost hiking and was rescued by someone who kept me alive through a blizzard.”
“Still, being trapped in a cabin with a strange man for two weeks? That sounds terrifying!” This from Brad, who I’ve never liked. “Did you feel unsafe? Were you worried he might—”
“He saved my life,” I cut him off coldly. “And no, I never felt unsafe. He was nothing but respectful and kind.”
“Kind?” Miranda laughs. “Sloane, the man lives alone in the woods. That’s serial killer behavior.”
“He’s a veteran with PTSD who chose a quiet life.” I’m gripping my glass so hard it might shatter. “And he taught me more about survival and strength and living authentically in two weeks than I’ve learned in ten years of practicing law.”
The table goes quiet, everyone staring at me.
“You sound different,” Brad says finally. “Did he brainwash you or something?”
“No, he woke me up.” I stand, throwing money on the table for my untouched drink. “And now I’m going back.”
“Back where?” Miranda asks.
“To Montana. To him. To the life I actually want instead of the one I’ve been pretending to want.”
I’m halfway to the door when I literally run into Marcus.
Marcus Chen, my ex-boyfriend, the one I went hiking to prove wrong in the first place. He’s here with his new girlfriend—some blonde associate from his firm—and the smug look on his face makes my blood boil.
“Sloane! Heard about your hiking disaster!” He’s practically gloating. “See? I told you hiking was dangerous. Told you you weren’t cut out for adventure. But you had to prove a point and nearly died. Hope you learned your lesson.”
I stare at him, and something inside me just… snaps.
I pick up his coffee—some overpriced latte from the trendy place next door—and dump it over his head.
The entire bar goes silent.
“I did learn a lesson,” I say calmly, watching the coffee drip down his face. “I learned that the only mistake I made was wasting three years dating someone who made me feel small. I learned that nearly dying showed me how to actually live. And I learned that you’re an insufferable ass who I should have dumped way sooner.”
His girlfriend is trying not to laugh. Good for her.
“You’re insane!” Marcus sputters, coffee dripping onto his expensive suit.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I’d rather be insane and happy than miserable and safe.”
I walk out of the bar with my head high, and for the first time since I got back to New York, I feel like myself.
The self I became in that cabin. The self who learned to chop wood and start fires and survive in the wilderness. The self who fell in love with a grumpy mountain man and isn’t afraid to fight for what she wants.
I pull out my phone and call Kenzie.
“I’m doing it,” I say when she answers. “I’m quitting tomorrow. No notice period, no playing it safe, no safety net. I’m burning this bridge and going back to Montana.”
“Hell yes you are!” I can hear the grin in her voice. “What changed your mind?”
“Marcus,” I say. “And dumping coffee on him. It was very therapeutic.”
“Oh my god, please tell me you got it on video.”
“Better. There were about thirty witnesses.”
She laughs. “That’s my girl. So when do you leave?”
“As soon as I can pack up my apartment and find someone to take over my lease.” Which won’t take long—my apartment is in a great neighborhood, and I don’t have much worth keeping. “A week, maybe two.”
“And what if he doesn’t want you back?” she asks gently. “What if he really meant what he said about it being temporary?”
“Then I’ll move to Montana anyway and build my own life there,” I say, and I mean it. “I’m not going back for him, Kenz. I mean, I am, but that’s not the only reason. I’m going back because I hate it here. Because I don’t fit in this life anymore. Because even if Jackson and I don’t work out, I’d rather be in the mountains trying and failing than in Manhattan slowly dying inside.”
“That’s the most certain I’ve ever heard you about anything,” she says. “Go get him, tiger.”
That night, I lie in my sterile white apartment surrounded by boxes, and I don’t feel anxious or uncertain or scared.
I feel free.
Because for the first time in my adult life, I’m making a choice based on what I actually want instead of what I think I should want. I’m choosing happiness over security, authenticity over appearances, a man who sees me over a career that uses me.
I’m choosing Jackson.
And even if it doesn’t work out, even if he really has convinced himself that we’re over, I know I’m making the right choice.
Because anything is better than this.
Anything is better than the slow death of pretending to be someone I’m not.
I pull out Jackson’s red flannel—the one I took from the cabin—and bury my face in it. It still smells like him, like pine and woodsmoke and mountain air.
It smells like home.
“I’m coming back,” I whisper into the fabric. “I know you don’t believe me. But I’m coming back. And you’re going to have to face the fact that you were wrong about me, wrong about us, wrong about everything.”
Two more weeks.
Two more weeks and I’ll be on a plane to Montana.
Two more weeks and I’ll find out if the man I love is brave enough to let me love him.
And if he’s not?
Well, then I’ll just have to be brave enough for both of us.
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