Updated Apr 12, 2026 • ~6 min read
Chapter 23: Three Years
Quinn
Three years after the cabin, Quinn finds herself pregnant again and surprised by how different this pregnancy feels.
With Emily, she was terrified and unprepared and constantly worried she was doing everything wrong.
This time, she’s just excited.
“Boy or girl?” Cole asks, both of them at the ultrasound appointment while Emily stays with Margaret.
“Do we want to know?”
“I kind of do, actually. Just so we can prepare. Plan. Make decisions.”
Quinn laughs. “You’ve been married to me for three years and you think we’re going to plan anything? Our entire relationship is based on not planning.”
“Fair point. Surprise it is.”
The pregnancy is easier this time—less nausea, more energy, Quinn’s body apparently remembering how to do this—and she works through most of it, taking client meetings and conducting site visits with an ever-expanding belly that becomes her signature.
“You’re the pregnant environmental consultant,” one developer says. “I’ve heard about you. You’re supposedly ruthless about compliance.”
“I prefer ‘thorough.’ And yes, if your project destroys ecosystems, I’ll tell you. Repeatedly. Until you fix it or I walk.”
“That’s what I heard. That’s why I hired you.”
Hart-Fitz has grown to twenty-five employees and become the go-to firm for sustainable development across the Mountain West, and Quinn’s reputation as someone who doesn’t compromise on environmental standards while still finding workable solutions has made her sought-after.
She’s featured in business journals, environmental publications, even a TED talk about collaborative rather than adversarial approaches to conservation.
“You’re famous,” Mara says during a video call. Mara’s still in Seattle, still Quinn’s best friend despite the distance. “Like actually famous in environmental circles.”
“I’m notorious for being difficult to work with unless you’re serious about sustainability.”
“That’s fame. People know your name. People want to hire you specifically.”
“People want to hire Hart-Fitz. It’s the company, not me.”
“It’s both. You and Cole built something that matters. You changed how development happens. That’s significant.”
Quinn thinks about this while reviewing plans for their latest project—a major development in Wyoming that could either be a model for sustainable growth or an environmental disaster depending on how it’s designed.
She’s been going back and forth with the developer for three months, pushing for more wetland preservation, better water management, lower environmental impact.
And finally, they’ve reached a compromise that works.
“We did it,” Quinn tells Cole that night. “The Wyoming project. They agreed to everything—the preservation requirements, the green infrastructure, the monitoring protocols. It’s going to be the largest sustainable development in the state.”
“That’s huge.”
“That’s exactly what we’ve been working toward. Proof that you can build big AND build right.”
Cole pulls her close—careful of her pregnant belly, which has gotten substantially larger in the past month. “You’re changing the world, Quinn Hartford.”
“We’re changing the world. This is our work, our model, our partnership.”
“Our partnership that’s about to include another tiny person who will probably never sleep.”
“Probably. But we survived Emily. We can survive baby number two.”
Emily, now three and a half, has opinions about the baby.
“I want a sister,” she declares. “Brothers are yucky.”
“You’ve never met a brother,” Quinn points out.
“Sara at school has a brother and he pulls her hair. I don’t want hair pulling.”
“Not all brothers pull hair—”
“I want a sister who likes books and dinosaurs and doesn’t pull hair.”
“That’s very specific criteria.”
As it turns out, Emily gets her wish—baby number two is a girl, born during a spring thunderstorm that’s nowhere near as dramatic as the blizzard but still manages to knock out power at the hospital.
“We have a thing with weather and major life events,” Cole observes, holding their new daughter—Sophia Quinn Hartford, named for Quinn’s grandmother and Quinn herself—while Quinn recovers.
“Apparently we’re only allowed to have important moments during storms.”
“Could be worse. Could be earthquakes.”
“Please don’t jinx us.”
Sophia is easier than Emily was—sleeps better, fusses less, seems generally content with existence—and Quinn wonders if it’s because she’s a different baby or because Quinn’s a different mother this time.
More confident.
Less terrified.
Trusting herself to know what she’s doing even when she doesn’t.
“You’re good at this,” Margaret observes one afternoon, watching Quinn juggle a phone call with a client while nursing Sophia and helping Emily with a puzzle.
“I’m adequate at multitasking. Different skill.”
“You’re a good mother. And a good professional. And somehow managing to be both without losing yourself in either role.”
“It helps that I have a partner who actually partners instead of just delegating childcare to me.”
“Cole is his father’s son. David was hands-on with both kids, never saw parenting as ‘helping’ his wife—saw it as doing his job as a father.”
Quinn thinks about Cole, who splits nighttime feedings, who takes Emily to daycare every morning, who schedules his construction site visits around Quinn’s client meetings so one of them is always available for the kids.
Equal partnership in parenting.
Equal partnership in business.
Equal partnership in life.
That’s what they built.
Six months after Sophia’s birth, Hart-Fitz wins a national award for sustainable development, and Quinn gives the acceptance speech—Sophia strapped to her chest in a carrier, Emily holding Cole’s hand on stage—and talks about partnership.
“The model we’ve built isn’t about one person or one company,” Quinn says to the audience of developers and environmental advocates and policy makers. “It’s about genuine collaboration between construction and conservation, economics and ecology, growth and protection. It’s about recognizing that these aren’t opposing forces—they’re interdependent systems that work best when we work together.”
She gets a standing ovation.
Articles written about her approach.
Consulting requests that flood in for months.
And through all of it, Cole is beside her—supporting, partnering, building their shared vision of what development should look like.
“We’re changing the industry,” one environmental advocate tells them after the award ceremony. “Making sustainable development the expectation instead of the exception. That’s legacy work.”
Legacy.
Quinn thinks about that word.
About what they’re building that will last beyond them.
Hart-Fitz Sustainable Solutions, still growing, still innovating, still proving development and conservation can coexist.
Emily and Sophia, growing up understanding environmental responsibility as normal instead of radical.
The Cedar Ridge Meadows development, now fully completed, serving as a model replicated across the region.
And the cabin—their cabin, where it all started—standing as reminder of how unexpected love can transform everything.
“What are you thinking?” Cole asks that night, both of them exhausted but content after the ceremony.
“That we built something beautiful. Something that matters. Something that will last.”
“We did. And we’re not done building.”
“No,” Quinn agrees, looking at their sleeping daughters, their thriving business, their impossible beautiful life. “We’re definitely not done.”
More terrible decisions ahead.
More beautiful moments to create.
More life to build.
Together.
Always together.
Reader Reactions