Updated Jan 14, 2026 • ~10 min read
POV: Hailey
One Week Later
[WARNING: MAJOR HEARTBREAK CHAPTER – The misunderstanding that breaks them]
Victoria called again. I should have ignored it. Should have—
Should have learned my lesson.
But I answered. Because part of me—small, stupid part—wanted to know what she’d say. Wanted to—
Wanted to prove I could say no again. Prove I’d really chosen.
“Hailey. I have one more offer. Hear me out before you say no.”
“Victoria, I told you—”
“CEO position. New York City branch. We’re expanding. I want you to run it. Complete autonomy. Build your own team. Your own vision. Salary—well, let’s just say you’d never worry about money again. This is—this is everything, Hailey. Everything you worked for. Everything you deserve.”
My stomach dropped.
CEO. NYC. Everything I’d—
Everything I’d dreamed of before Reid. Before Pine Ridge. Before—
Before I’d learned what I actually wanted.
“I—I need to think about it.”
“You have forty-eight hours. After that, I’m offering it to Amanda. Don’t throw this away, Hailey. Don’t throw away your career for a man you’ve known six months. Don’t—don’t make that mistake.”
She hung up.
I stood in our kitchen, phone in hand, heart racing.
CEO. NYC. Everything.
But I didn’t want it. Did I?
No. I wanted Pine Ridge. I wanted Reid. I wanted—
I wanted this life.
But the offer—it was tempting in a way that scared me. Not because I wanted to take it. But because—
Because Victoria was right. Six months. I’d known Reid six months. Moved here after three months. Built my entire life around a relationship that was—
That was what? Real? Permanent? Or—
Or was I doing it again? Building my worth around being chosen? Making someone else my home because I was too afraid to build my own?
No. That wasn’t—that wasn’t what this was.
Was it?
I needed air. Needed to think. Needed—
I grabbed my coat and went for a walk, leaving my phone on the counter.
Big mistake.
[REID POV]
I came home early—wanted to surprise Hailey with lunch—and found the cabin empty.
Her phone was on the counter. Buzzing. Victoria calling back.
I shouldn’t have answered. Shouldn’t have—
But I did.
“Hailey, I know you’re conflicted,” Victoria’s voice was smooth, persuasive. “But think about it rationally. You moved to Montana for a man you barely know. You gave up your career. You’re building a small business when you could be running an empire. Is that really what you want? Or did you just—get caught up? Proximity. Crisis bonding. That intense thing that happens when you’re trapped with someone. But that fades, Hailey. And when it does, you’ll regret giving up everything for—for what? A cabin? A small town? A man who—”
I hung up.
Stood there. Processing.
Proximity. Crisis bonding. Got caught up.
Is that—is that what this was to her?
Is that what I was?
Not real. Not permanent. Not—
Not chosen. Just—convenient. Temporary. Something that would fade when reality set in.
The door opened. Hailey came in, face flushed from cold, smiling until she saw my expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Victoria called. I answered your phone. She—she said some things.”
Her face went pale. “What things?”
“That you’re conflicted. That you moved here for someone you barely know. That—that this is proximity. Crisis bonding. Something that fades. Is that—is that what this is to you?”
“No. God, no. Reid, that’s not—”
“Then why didn’t you tell me she called again? Why didn’t you tell me about the NYC offer?”
“How did you—”
“She mentioned it. CEO position. New York. Everything you’ve ever wanted. When were you going to tell me? Or were you just—just going to leave? Go back to your real life and pretend this was—was what? A mountain vacation? A sabbatical before returning to reality?”
“That’s not fair. I wasn’t going to take it. I don’t want it.”
“But you’re tempted. You’re thinking about it. Otherwise you would have told me immediately. You would have said no right away. But you didn’t. You—you’re considering it.”
“I’m not—it’s complicated—”
“It’s not complicated. Either you want to be here or you don’t. Either I’m enough or I’m not. Either this is real or it’s—it’s just proximity like Victoria said. Just—just crisis bonding that’s fading now that we’re in the real world.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t—don’t make me choose between you and my career—”
“I’m not making you choose. YOU are. You’re the one considering leaving. You’re the one who kept this from me. You’re the one who—who apparently thinks this might just be proximity instead of—instead of real.”
“That’s not what I think! Reid, I love you. I chose you. I moved here for you—”
“You moved here for you. Because Seattle was killing you. Because your job was awful. Because—because I was convenient. Available. Close. But now Victoria’s offering you everything—real everything, not small-town-cabin everything—and you’re tempted. Admit it. You’re tempted.”
“Of course I’m tempted! It’s everything I worked for! Everything I—” She stopped. “But I don’t want it. Not anymore. I want this. I want you.”
“Do you? Or are you just—just scared to be alone again? Scared to leave because it means admitting you made a mistake moving here? Scared—scared to face that maybe this WAS just proximity and crisis bonding and now you’re stuck in a life you don’t actually want?”
“That’s not true. None of that is true.”
“Then why are you still thinking about it? Why haven’t you called her back and said no?”
“Because—” She stopped. Started again. “Because I wanted to process. To make sure I was choosing for the right reasons. To—to not be impulsive. That’s healthy, Reid. That’s thinking things through instead of just reacting.”
“Or it’s you realizing this was a mistake. That moving here was a mistake. That I was—that we were a mistake.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t—don’t put words in my mouth. I’m not saying this is a mistake. I’m saying—I’m saying I got a big offer and I needed time to process it. That’s allowed. I’m allowed to think without it meaning I don’t love you.”
“Are you? Because it feels like you’re keeping one foot out the door. Like you’re—like you’re waiting to see if something better comes along. Like—like I’m just the backup plan. The temporary stop before you go back to your real life.”
“You’re not my backup plan. You’re my actual plan. You’re—you’re everything. But Reid, I can’t—I can’t NOT think about this. I can’t pretend a huge career opportunity doesn’t exist just because you’re insecure.”
The word landed like a bomb.
Insecure.
“I’m insecure because you didn’t tell me. I’m insecure because you’re considering leaving. I’m insecure because—because Vanessa left. Because everyone leaves eventually. Because I’m apparently the kind of person people choose temporarily until something better comes along.”
“I’m not Vanessa. I’m not leaving. I’m just—I’m processing. That’s all.”
“For forty-eight hours. That’s what Victoria said. You have forty-eight hours to decide. To decide if I’m—if we’re worth staying for. If this life is worth more than that career.”
“That’s not fair. You can’t—you can’t make this an ultimatum.”
“I’m not. Victoria is. And you—you’re considering it. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“What does it tell you?”
“That this isn’t real. That I’m not enough. That—that I was right all along. I’m broken and temporary and not worth staying for. That—that isolation was safer. That trying was a mistake. That—that loving you was—”
I stopped. Couldn’t finish.
Because finishing meant saying something I couldn’t take back.
“Was what?” she asked quietly. “Loving me was what?”
“Was setting myself up to be destroyed. Again. Just like Vanessa. Just like—just like everyone who’s ever left. You’re all the same. You stay until something better comes along. Until I’m not—not convenient anymore. Until—until real life offers better options.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s not. I love you. I chose you. I moved my entire life here for you—”
“For you,” I corrected. “You moved here for you. I was just—I was just part of the package. The convenient mountain man who made you feel safe. But now Victoria’s offering you real life and you’re realizing—you’re realizing I was just a phase. A storm. Proximity. Crisis bonding. All the things she said. All the things that—that fade when reality comes back.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth. Stop—stop spiraling. Stop making this about Vanessa and your abandonment issues. This is about—this is about me getting a job offer and needing time to think. That’s normal. That’s allowed.”
“Then think. Take your forty-eight hours. Decide. But Hailey—” I looked at her, really looked at her. “If you’re even considering leaving, if you’re even slightly tempted—then maybe Victoria’s right. Maybe this was just proximity. Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe—maybe we should take a break. Give you space to figure out what you actually want without me—without me being in the way.”
“You’re not in the way. Reid, don’t do this. Don’t—don’t push me away because you’re scared—”
“I’m not scared. I’m realistic. You’re considering leaving. That says everything. So take your time. Figure it out. And if you decide to stay—if you decide I’m actually worth it—then we’ll talk. But if you decide to go—” My voice broke. “If you decide to go, at least I won’t be surprised. At least I’ll have seen it coming.”
“Reid—”
“I need space. I need—I need air.”
I left. Walked out of our cabin—our home—and didn’t look back.
Because looking back meant seeing her face. Meant seeing the hurt I’d caused. Meant—
Meant breaking completely.
And I couldn’t break. Not yet. Not—
Not until she made her choice.
Not until she proved me right. That I wasn’t worth staying for. That this had all been—
Been proximity.
Been temporary.
Been—
Been too good to be true.
I walked until I couldn’t breathe. Until the cold burned my lungs. Until—
Until I couldn’t feel anything except betrayal and fear and the certainty that I’d been right all along.
I wasn’t enough.
I was never enough.
And Hailey—she’d figure that out too.
She’d take the job. Leave Pine Ridge. Leave me.
Prove that loving me had been a mistake.
Just like Vanessa had.
Just like everyone did.
Eventually.
Always eventually.
I was alone.
Again.
Always again.
Forever alone.
That was safer anyway.
That was—
That was what I deserved.
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