Updated Apr 12, 2026 • ~7 min read
Chapter 17: Back to Seattle
Quinn
Going back to Seattle feels surreal after a month in Montana.
Quinn stands in her apartment—sleek modern space in Capitol Hill, all clean lines and expensive minimalism—and realizes it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
Montana feels like home.
The ranch feels like home.
Cole feels like home.
This expensive apartment she’s been paying for is just a place she used to sleep between work obligations.
“You’re really doing this,” her best friend Mara says, helping pack Quinn’s belongings. “Moving to Montana for a guy you’ve known five weeks.”
“I’m moving to Montana to start a consulting practice and also because I’m engaged to said guy,” Quinn corrects, the ring on her finger still feeling strange and wonderful.
“Engaged. After five weeks. Do you hear yourself?”
“I hear myself sounding insane. I also hear myself sounding happier than I’ve been in years.” Quinn packs books into a box. “I know it’s fast. I know it looks crazy. But I’ve never been more certain about anything.”
Mara studies her. “You’re glowing. Like actually glowing. Montana boy is good for you.”
“Montana boy is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Then I’m happy for you. Still think you’re insane, but happy.”
The firm meeting is less supportive.
Quinn walks into the conference room where her boss and three senior partners are waiting, and she can feel the hostility before anyone speaks.
“Fitzgerald,” her boss says coldly. “Care to explain why you’re recommending we drop the Hartford case?”
“Because the developer has redesigned the project to fully comply with environmental regulations while still providing economic benefit to the community. Our mission is environmental protection, not punishment. The revised plan achieves our mission.”
“Our mission is setting precedent that developers can’t ignore environmental law.”
“Hartford wasn’t ignoring it, he didn’t understand the full impact. Now he does and he’s corrected it. Continuing the lawsuit serves no purpose except winning for the sake of winning.”
“You’re compromised,” says Patricia Yeng, senior partner. “You’ve clearly developed personal involvement with the defendant that’s affecting your professional judgment.”
“I’ve developed personal involvement that led me to find a better solution than litigation. The revised plan protects more wetland acreage than our lawsuit would have preserved. That’s a win.”
“It’s a win for Hartford Construction. Not for our firm’s reputation as aggressive environmental advocates.”
Quinn takes a breath, steadies herself. “I’m resigning. Effective immediately. I’ll provide transition memos for all my cases, but I’m done working for a firm that prioritizes optics over outcomes.”
Silence.
Then her boss leans forward. “You’re throwing away a partnership track position for a Montana contractor?”
“I’m leaving a job that makes me miserable to start a consulting practice that lets me actually help people find sustainable solutions. The Montana contractor is a bonus.” She slides an envelope across the table. “My formal resignation. I’ll clean out my office today.”
“You’ll be blackballed from environmental law in Seattle—”
“Good thing I’m moving to Montana then.”
Quinn walks out before they can respond, and her hands are shaking but she feels lighter than she has in years.
She’s done.
Done fighting battles just to win them.
Done working for people who care more about precedent than actual environmental protection.
Done living a life that looks successful from the outside but feels hollow on the inside.
Her mother is predictably horrified when Quinn has dinner with her parents that night.
“You’re moving to Montana,” Catherine Fitzgerald says flatly. “To marry a construction worker.”
“Construction company owner,” Quinn corrects. “And environmental consultant. And yes, I’m moving to Montana.”
“This is about your father. You’re rebelling—”
“This isn’t rebellion, Mom. This is me building a life I actually want instead of running away from the one I don’t.”
Her father—notorious developer William Fitzgerald—surprisingly speaks up. “What’s his company do?”
“Sustainable development. The Cedar Ridge project is a model for how to build economically while preserving environmental systems.”
“Interesting.” Her father studies her. “You’re consulting on this?”
“I’m co-designing it. Using my environmental law expertise to create development plans that work for everyone instead of just fighting in court.”
“Huh.” William considers this. “Might want to talk to him about a Seattle project I’m planning. Environmental groups are giving me hell and I could use someone who understands both sides.”
Quinn stares at her father. “You want to hire me?”
“I want to hire your expertise. If you can make Montana contractors understand environmental law, you can probably make me understand it too.” He smirks. “Plus, irritates your mother when you’re right about things.”
“William,” Catherine protests, but he waves her off.
“Our daughter has found a career path that uses her skills and makes her happy and also involves marrying someone who makes her light up like a Christmas tree when she talks about him. We should be supportive.”
“She’s known him five weeks—”
“I knew you six weeks before I proposed. Worked out fine.”
Catherine glares at him, but there’s affection underneath. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m being realistic. Quinn’s an adult. She’s making adult decisions. We can support her or we can lose her the way we almost did when we tried to control her career path.” He looks at Quinn. “Send me his information. The Montana contractor. I want to talk business.”
Quinn’s throat is tight. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to ask hard questions and demand actual environmental credentials. But if he’s good enough for you, he’s worth talking to.”
She flies back to Montana two days later, Seattle apartment mostly packed and in storage, professional obligations closed out, ready to start her new life.
Cole meets her at the tiny Billings airport, and Quinn drops her bags and runs to him, kissing him like it’s been months instead of ten days.
“I resigned,” she says against his mouth. “Officially done with the firm.”
“How do you feel?”
“Terrified and exhilarated and completely certain I made the right choice.”
“Good. Because I may have rented you office space in town. And started telling people you’re opening a consulting practice. And accidentally told everyone we’re engaged, so the whole town knows and has opinions.”
“Accidentally told everyone?”
“Betty asked if the ring on your finger in the photos you posted meant what she thought it meant, and I confirmed it, and apparently that counts as a town-wide announcement because now everyone’s asking about wedding dates.”
Quinn laughs. “Have you picked a date?”
“I was thinking next month. Small ceremony, family and friends, at the ranch. Unless you want something bigger—”
“Next month is perfect. Small ceremony is perfect. All of this is perfect.”
She kisses him again, there in the airport arrivals area, not caring who sees or what they think, because Quinn Fitzgerald is done hiding and done being careful and done living a life that looks good on paper but feels wrong in practice.
She’s engaged to Cole Hartford.
She’s moving to Montana.
She’s starting a consulting practice that lets her actually help people instead of just suing them.
And for the first time in her adult life, Quinn’s future feels wide open and full of possibility instead of carefully controlled and safe.
“Take me home,” she says.
“The ranch?”
“Wherever you are. That’s home.”
And Cole drives her to the Hartford ranch where Margaret has decorated the guest room—now Quinn’s room officially—with welcome home balloons and a bottle of champagne and a note that says “Welcome to the family, soon-to-be daughter.”
This is home.
Montana.
The ranch.
Cole.
All of it.
And Quinn has never been happier to have made a series of terrible decisions that led her exactly where she belongs.
Reader Reactions