Updated Jan 14, 2026 • ~15 min read
POV: Hailey
Three Weeks Later
I was staying at Rose’s inn. Temporarily. Everything felt temporary now.
Three weeks since Reid walked out. Three weeks since—
Since everything fell apart.
I hadn’t taken Victoria’s job. Called her the day after the fight and said no. Firmly. Finally.
But I also hadn’t talked to Reid.
Hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t—
Hadn’t fought for us.
Because part of me—small, broken part—believed he was right. That I’d been considering leaving. That maybe—maybe this had been proximity. Crisis bonding. Something that felt real in the moment but—
But wasn’t built to last.
Rose knocked on my door. “Breakfast is ready. Come eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“Hailey Brooks, you’re coming downstairs and eating. I didn’t raise—” She stopped. Corrected. “I didn’t watch you fall in love with that stubborn man just to watch you starve yourself because you’re both idiots.”
“He doesn’t want me.”
“He’s terrified. That’s different.”
“He said I wasn’t real. That we weren’t real. That—that it was just proximity.”
“He said that because he’s scared. Because Vanessa destroyed his ability to trust. Because—because he’s waiting for you to leave so he can say ‘I knew it’ instead of being surprised. That’s trauma, honey. Not truth.”
“But what if he’s right? What if I was tempted by Victoria’s offer because—because this isn’t what I really want? What if I moved here for the wrong reasons?”
“Did you take the job?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” My voice broke. “Because I don’t want it. I want Pine Ridge. I want my business. I want—I want Reid. I want the life we were building. I want—I want home.”
“Then why are you here instead of at that cabin telling him that?”
“Because he told me to take my forty-eight hours. To decide. To—to figure out if he was worth staying for. And I decided he was. But by the time I tried to tell him—” I swallowed hard. “He was gone. Wouldn’t answer my calls. Wouldn’t—wouldn’t let me explain.”
“He’s at the cabin. He’s been there for three weeks. Alone. More isolated than before you met him. Wade says he won’t answer the door. Won’t return calls. Won’t—won’t come out.”
My stomach twisted. “He’s okay though? Physically?”
“Wade checks on him. Makes sure he’s eating. Makes sure—makes sure he’s not doing anything stupid. But Hailey, he’s not okay. He’s destroyed. Just like you.”
“Then why won’t he talk to me?”
“Because he’s convinced you’re leaving. Convinced this is temporary. Convinced—convinced he’s not worth fighting for. You need to show him he’s wrong. You need to—to fight for him. For us. For what you built together.”
“What if he doesn’t want me to fight for him? What if—what if he’s decided I’m too much trouble?”
Rose sat beside me. Took my hand. “That boy loves you more than anything. I’ve watched him for years—isolated, alone, convinced he was better off that way. And then you came along and he—he came alive. He laughed. He hoped. He tried. You did that. You made him brave enough to try. Don’t let one fight—one misunderstanding born from trauma—destroy that. Don’t—don’t give up on him.”
“He gave up on me.”
“He got scared. That’s different. He heard Victoria say those things and his trauma took over. He heard ‘proximity’ and ‘crisis bonding’ and his brain said ‘See? I knew it. Everyone leaves.’ That’s not rational. That’s not real. That’s just—that’s just wounds talking. Your wounds told you to perform perfectly so people wouldn’t send you back. His wounds tell him to push people away before they can leave. You’re both doing the same thing—protecting yourselves from pain by causing it first.”
Was that true?
Had I been performing even with Reid? Trying to be perfect so he wouldn’t—wouldn’t realize I was returnable?
Had he pushed me away because he was scared I’d leave eventually anyway?
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I whispered.
“You start by talking. Really talking. Not fighting. Not defending. Just—listening. Understanding. Choosing to work through it instead of running away. That’s—that’s how love works. Messy. Imperfect. Choosing each other even when it’s hard.”
“What if he won’t listen?”
“Then you make him listen. You fight for him. You show up. You—you prove you’re not Vanessa. You’re not leaving. You’re not—not giving up just because things got hard. That’s what love is, Hailey. It’s not the easy moments. It’s the hard ones. It’s choosing each other when everything in you says to run. That’s—that’s real.”
I looked at her—this woman who’d become the mother I’d never had—and asked: “What would you do?”
“I’d go to that cabin. I’d knock on that door until he answered. And I’d tell him: ‘I’m not leaving. I’m not Vanessa. I’m not—not giving up on us. You’re stuck with me. Forever. Whether you like it or not. Because I love you. And love doesn’t run just because things get scary. It stays. It fights. It—it chooses. Every day. Even the hard days. Especially the hard days.'”
“You think that would work?”
“I think Reid Foster is waiting for someone to fight for him. To prove they’re staying. To—to show him he’s worth the fight. Be that person, Hailey. Be the person who stays.”
I drove to the cabin that afternoon. Hands shaking. Heart racing.
Reid’s truck was there. Lights off inside.
I knocked. No answer.
Knocked again. “Reid? It’s me. I need—I need to talk to you.”
Nothing.
“I know you’re in there. Wade told Rose you’ve been here. I just—I need five minutes. Please. Just—just let me explain.”
Silence.
“I didn’t take the job. Victoria’s job. I told her no. The same day we fought. I told her—I told her I was choosing this. Choosing you. Choosing—choosing home. But you wouldn’t let me explain. You—you decided I was leaving without giving me the chance to tell you I was staying.”
Still nothing.
“Reid, I love you. I’m not Vanessa. I’m not leaving. I’m not—not giving up just because we had one fight. One misunderstanding. I’m—I’m here. I’m staying. I’m choosing you. But you have to let me in. You have to—have to choose me back. Choose to believe me. Choose to—to try instead of hiding.”
The door opened.
Reid stood there—looking worse than I’d ever seen him. Unshaven. Tired. Destroyed.
“You said you were tempted,” he said quietly. “You said ‘of course I’m tempted.’ That means—that means part of you wanted to go. Wanted—wanted that life instead of this one.”
“Of course part of me was tempted. It was everything I worked for. Everything I thought I wanted. But Reid—wanting something for a moment doesn’t mean choosing it. I was tempted. And then I chose. I chose you. I chose this. I chose—chose home. That’s what matters. Not the temptation. The choice.”
“But you hesitated. You didn’t say no immediately. You—you considered it.”
“Yes. I considered it. For maybe twelve hours. Because I wanted to make sure I was choosing for the right reasons. Not out of fear. Not out of—of obligation. But because it was genuinely what I wanted. And it is. You are. This life is. I want this. Not the alternative. Not—not the ‘everything I worked for’ life. I want the life we’re building. The real life. The—the messy, imperfect, authentic life. That’s worth more than any CEO position. You’re worth more.”
“How do I believe that?”
“By trusting me. By—by giving me the chance to prove it. By not deciding I’m leaving before I’ve even made a choice. By—by believing I love you. Really love you. Not temporarily. Not—not as a crisis response. But really. Permanently. Forever.”
He looked at me with such pain. Such fear. “I heard what Victoria said. Proximity. Crisis bonding. Got caught up. She was—she was describing us. Describing—”
“She was trying to manipulate me. Trying to—to convince me our relationship wasn’t real so I’d take her job offer. But Reid—she was wrong. What we have isn’t proximity. It isn’t crisis bonding. It’s—it’s real. It’s messy and scary and imperfect and—and the realest thing I’ve ever felt. Don’t let Victoria define us. Don’t let—let her poison what we built.”
“She said you moved here for a man you barely know.”
“I moved here for me. Because Seattle was killing me. Because—because I wanted authenticity over performance. And yes, you were part of that. A big part. But I didn’t move here just for you. I moved here for—for the life I wanted. The business I wanted to build. The—the person I wanted to be. You were the catalyst. But the choice was mine. For me. That makes it—it makes it real. Not dependent on you. Not conditional. Just—just what I wanted.”
“But if we broke up—would you stay?”
The question hung between us.
Would I?
“I—I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Maybe not immediately. Maybe I’d need space. Need to—to grieve. But Reid—I built a business here. I have clients. I have friends. I have—I have a life. That’s not dependent on you. That’s mine. So yes, I think eventually I’d stay. Because this is home. Not just you. The whole thing. The town. The life. The—the person I am here. That’s worth staying for. With or without you.”
Something shifted in his expression. Relief? Understanding?
“I didn’t know if you’d built enough here to stay. If—if I was the only reason. If that was true—if I was the only thing keeping you here—then it would be temporary. Eventually you’d realize I’m not enough. Not worth—worth giving up everything else.”
“You’re not the only thing. But you’re a huge thing. The most important thing. And Reid—you ARE enough. You’re—you’re more than enough. You’re everything. But I need you to believe that. I need—I need you to stop waiting for me to leave. Stop expecting abandonment. Stop—stop pushing me away because you’re scared. I can’t keep fighting your trauma and your fear and your—your certainty that everyone leaves. At some point, you have to choose to believe me. To trust me. To—to let me love you without expecting me to leave.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder. Because Reid—I can’t do this alone. I can’t be the only one fighting for us. You have to fight too. You have to—to choose to trust me. Choose to—to work through hard things instead of running. Choose—choose us. Not just in the easy moments. But in the hard ones. Especially in the hard ones.”
He looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw the war happening inside him. Fear versus hope. Trauma versus trust. Running versus staying.
“I’m terrified,” he said finally.
“I know.”
“I’m terrified you’ll leave. That you’ll realize I’m—I’m too damaged. Too broken. Too—too much work. That—that you’ll go back to your real life and I’ll be—be alone again.”
“I’m terrified too. I’m terrified you’ll send me back. That you’ll decide I’m—I’m returnable. Temporary. Not worth keeping. But Reid—we can’t let our fear control us. We can’t—can’t destroy what we built because we’re scared of losing it. That’s—that’s not living. That’s just—existing. Waiting to be hurt. We have to be braver than that. We have to—to choose to trust. Choose to try. Choose—choose each other even when it’s scary.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Then learn. With me. We’ll—we’ll figure it out together. Messily. Imperfectly. But together. That’s—that’s all I’m asking. Don’t give up. Don’t—don’t walk away because you’re scared. Stay. Fight. Choose—choose us.”
Long silence.
Then: “I’m sorry. For what I said. For—for accusing you of using me. For making it an ultimatum. For—for pushing you away because I was scared. That was—that was my trauma talking. Not—not reality.”
“I’m sorry too. For not telling you about Victoria’s call immediately. For—for making you feel like I was keeping secrets. For not—not being clear that I was choosing you. I should have said no to Victoria right away. Shouldn’t have—have needed time to think. That wasn’t fair to you.”
“You’re allowed to think. You’re allowed to—to process big decisions. I shouldn’t have made you feel like considering an offer meant you didn’t love me.”
“And I shouldn’t have let you overhear Victoria without—without context. Without knowing she was trying to manipulate me. That—that must have been awful. Hearing those things and thinking—thinking I believed them.”
“It was. But I should have asked you. Should have—have let you explain instead of assuming the worst. That’s—that’s on me. My fear. My—my abandonment issues. Not you.”
We stood in the doorway, both exhausted from three weeks of misery, both trying to—to find our way back to each other.
“Can I come in?” I asked quietly.
He stepped aside. Let me in.
The cabin looked—looked sad. Dark. Empty. Like all the life had been sucked out.
“You’ve been living like this?”
“Didn’t see the point in—in pretending. If you were leaving—if this was ending—why maintain the illusion?”
“It’s not ending. Reid, I’m not leaving. I’m—I’m here. I’m staying. I’m choosing this. You. Us. Home. But you have to let me. You have to—to stop pushing me away.”
“I don’t know how to not be scared.”
“Then be scared. But be scared with me. Not—not alone. Let me—let me be scared with you. Let me—let me hold you while you’re terrified. Let me prove, day by day, that I’m staying. That—that you’re worth staying for. That we’re worth fighting for.”
He looked at me with such desperate hope. “You really want this? You’re not just—just settling because the alternative is harder?”
“I’m choosing this because it’s what I want. Not because it’s easy. God knows this isn’t easy. Loving you is—is terrifying. Loving anyone is terrifying. But it’s—it’s worth it. You’re worth it. This life is worth it. I’d rather be terrified with you than comfortable and miserable in New York.”
“You’d really be miserable in New York?”
“I was miserable in Seattle. Same thing. Big city. Corporate job. Performing happiness instead of feeling it. That’s—that’s not life. That’s just—just existing. Going through motions. Checking boxes. I want more than that. I want—I want real. Messy. Authentic. I want—I want you. I want this. I want home.”
He took a step closer. Tentative. Scared. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“These three weeks—they’ve been the worst of my life. Worse than—than after Vanessa. Worse than after the building. Because—because I knew what I was missing. Knew what I’d—I’d thrown away because I was too scared to believe you’d stay.”
“You didn’t throw it away. We’re still here. We’re—we’re still choosing each other. We just—we just had to get through the hard part. The scary part. The—the part where our wounds talked instead of our hearts.”
“Can we—can we not do that again? The walking away part? The—the three weeks of silence part? Can we—can we promise to talk instead? To—to work through things instead of running?”
“Yes. God, yes. Reid, I never want to feel like this again. Never want to—to be separated from you because we’re both too scared to fight. We have to—to be braver than our trauma. Braver than our fear. We have to—to choose each other even when it’s hard.”
He pulled me close. Held me like I might disappear. “I choose you. I’m sorry I forgot that. Sorry I—I let my fear convince me you didn’t choose me back. You do, right? You choose me?”
“Every day. Every moment. Every—every hard conversation and scary choice. I choose you. I choose us. I choose—choose home.”
“You’re my home too.”
“Then let me come home. Let me—let me stay. Really stay. No more—no more temporary. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just—just us. Building. Growing. Being. Together.”
“Together,” he agreed. “Forever. No more walking away. No more—more letting fear win. Just—just us. Messy and imperfect and figuring it out as we go.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. I’m sorry I forgot that for three weeks. Sorry I—I let my fear make me forget that you’re—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. That we’re worth fighting for. That—that this is real.”
We stood in the cabin—our cabin, our home—holding each other, both exhausted from fighting our own trauma, both choosing to try again.
It wasn’t fixed. Not completely. We’d have more hard moments. More fights. More times when our wounds tried to control us.
But we’d face them together. That was the difference. Together instead of alone. Fighting for each other instead of running away.
That was worth everything.
That was home.
That was—
That was love. Real love. Not perfect. Just—real.
And real was enough.
Real was everything.
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