Updated Jan 14, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Hailey
New Year’s Day
I’d officially quit my job.
Email sent December 30th, two weeks’ notice given, Victoria’s furious response ignored. I was free.
Terrified, but free.
Reid and I spent New Year’s Eve at his cabin—our cabin now—planning. Planning my business. Planning logistics. Planning—
Planning the rest of our lives.
“You’re overthinking again,” Reid said, watching me make lists.
“I’m planning. There’s a difference.”
“You’ve rewritten that business plan four times.”
“Because it needs to be perfect.”
“Hailey. It doesn’t need to be perfect. It needs to be real. Authentic. You. Stop trying to impress invisible judges and just—build what you want to build.”
He was right. I was doing it again. Performing. Even for myself.
“Okay,” I said, closing the laptop. “What if—what if instead of a traditional event planning business, I focus on intimate weddings? Small celebrations. Twenty to fifty people. Personal. Meaningful. The kind of wedding Morgan had. The kind—the kind I’d want if I ever—”
I stopped. Blushed.
Reid smiled. “If you ever what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“If you ever got married?” he finished gently.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He moved closer. “For the record, when we get married—because we will eventually get married—I want exactly that. Small. Intimate. Real. Just us and the people who matter.”
“When we get married,” I repeated. Testing the words. The promise.
“Yeah. When. Not if. I’m very sure about this. About you. About—about us. So when you’re ready—when we’re ready—we’ll do it. Small cabin wedding. Rose officiating because she’d be offended if we didn’t ask her. The whole town invited because Pine Ridge doesn’t understand the concept of small weddings.”
I laughed. “That sounds perfect.”
“So start planning your business with that in mind. Small cabin weddings. Mountain elopements. Intimate celebrations. Build—build what you wish you’d had. What people like us need. Real celebrations. Not performances.”
“Brooks Events,” I said suddenly. “That’s what I’ll call it. Hailey Brooks Events. Intimate destination weddings and elopements. Specializing in meaningful over magnificent. Real over perfect.”
“That’s perfect. That’s—that’s exactly right.”
“And I can work remotely. Coordinate with vendors long-distance. Only travel for the actual events. Build a business that fits our life instead of forcing our life to fit a business.”
“Exactly.”
I stared at my laptop—at the future I was building—and felt something I hadn’t felt in years:
Excitement. Real excitement. For work. For creating. For building something mine.
Not proving anything. Not performing for anyone. Just—creating something meaningful.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For making me believe this is possible. That I can build what I want. That I don’t have to—to sacrifice everything for validation I don’t actually need. You make me braver.”
“You were always brave. I just reminded you.”
My two weeks in Seattle were brutal.
Packing my apartment. Telling friends I was leaving. Enduring Victoria’s lectures about “throwing away my career” and “being irresponsible” and “making emotional decisions.”
But I also had moments of clarity:
Coffee with Morgan (who’d driven from Pine Ridge to help me pack): “You’re glowing. Like, actually glowing. I haven’t seen you this happy in—ever. You’re making the right choice.”
Video call with Brandon (my foster brother): “You found home. Real home. Don’t let fear talk you out of that. Mom and Dad—” He meant our last foster family. “They gave up on you. But Reid chose you. That’s—that’s everything. Go be happy, sis.”
Final walk through my neighborhood, realizing I felt nothing. No attachment. No sadness. Just—
Just relief. That I was leaving. Going home. Building something real.
January 15th, I loaded my life into a U-Haul truck and drove away from Seattle.
Eight hours later, I pulled into Reid’s driveway—our driveway—and saw him waiting on the porch, Rose and Wade and Parker and Morgan all there too.
A welcoming committee.
A family.
Chosen family.
“Welcome home,” Reid said, pulling me into his arms.
“I’m home,” I whispered. “Finally. Really. Home.”
They helped me unpack. Rose brought food. Wade assembled furniture. Morgan organized my clothes. Parker and Reid moved boxes while arguing about the best way to arrange things.
It was chaos. It was perfect. It was—
It was home.
That night, alone in our cabin—our home—Reid found me standing in the middle of the living room, overwhelmed.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I just—this is real. I actually did it. I quit my job. I moved across states. I’m—I’m starting over. Completely. That’s—that’s terrifying.”
“Are you regretting it?”
“No. Not at all. I’m just—I’m processing. I’ve never done this before. Never chosen something just because I wanted it. Never let myself be this brave. Never—never believed I deserved this.”
He turned me to face him. “You deserve this. You deserve home and love and building something meaningful. You deserve—you deserve everything you’ve never had. And I’m going to make sure you know that. Every single day.”
“What if I mess this up? What if I can’t make my business work? What if—what if I can’t stop performing long enough to actually live?”
“Then we figure it out. Together. But Hailey—you’ve been here for two weeks over Christmas. And you weren’t performing. You were just—being. Real. Happy. That’s who you are when you’re safe. That’s who you get to be now. All the time.”
“I want that. I want to be real all the time. Not just when I’m scared you’ll leave if I’m not perfect.”
“I’m not leaving. Ever. You could be a complete disaster and I’d still choose you. You could—could fail at everything and I’d still love you. You could be the most imperfect human on the planet and I’d still think you’re extraordinary. Because you are. Not because you’re perfect. Because you’re real. That’s what I love. The real you. The scared, brave, messy you. That’s—that’s my favorite version.”
I was crying. Again. Happy crying. Grateful crying. Chosen crying.
“I love you so much,” I said. “Thank you for letting me come home.”
“Thank you for being brave enough to come. Thank you for choosing this. Choosing—me. Us. This life. Even though it’s scary and uncertain and—and so different from what you planned.”
“This is better than what I planned. This is—this is everything I didn’t know I wanted.”
We stood in our home—filled with unpacked boxes and mismatched furniture and the beginning of something permanent—and I felt it:
Peace. Real peace. For the first time in my life.
I was home. Chosen. Loved. Building something real.
This was worth every risk. Every fear. Every moment of uncertainty.
This was worth everything.
“Reid?” I said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for finding me in that storm. Thank you for—for seeing me. Choosing me. Loving me. Thank you for—for being home.”
“Thank you for letting me. Thank you for—for making me want to stop hiding. For making me believe I deserve good things. You’re—you’re my good thing, Hailey. The best thing. The only thing that matters.”
“You’re mine too.”
“Good. Because you’re stuck with me now. For real. Forever. No take-backs.”
“No take-backs,” I agreed.
We kissed in our living room, surrounded by boxes and possibilities and the future we were building.
Together. Always together. Forever.
This was home.
He was home.
And finally—finally—I believed I deserved to stay.
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