Updated Apr 12, 2026 • ~5 min read
Chapter 25: Seven Years
Quinn
Seven years after the cabin, Quinn receives a call that changes everything.
“Ms. Hartford, this is the National Environmental Protection Agency. We’d like to offer you a position as senior advisor on sustainable development policy.”
Quinn sits down, processing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We’ve been following your work with Hart-Fitz. Your model for collaborative environmental compliance is exactly what we need at the federal level. We want you to help shape national policy.”
It’s a dream job.
The kind of position that lets you influence environmental protection across the entire country instead of just project by project.
The kind of opportunity Quinn would have killed for ten years ago.
And it requires moving to Washington DC.
“Can I think about it?” Quinn asks.
“Of course. We’d need an answer within two weeks.”
Quinn hangs up and immediately calls Cole.
“How do you feel about moving to DC?” she asks without preamble.
“I feel confused about why we’d move to DC.”
She explains the offer, the position, the opportunity to shape national environmental policy instead of just implementing it project by project.
Cole’s quiet for a long moment.
“That’s a huge opportunity,” he finally says. “That’s what you’ve been working toward—actual systemic change in how development happens.”
“It would mean leaving Montana. Leaving Hart-Fitz. Uprooting the girls.”
“It would mean you getting to do work that matters on a national scale.”
“Our work here matters—”
“I know it does. But this is different. This is policy-level impact. That’s significant.”
That night, they talk about it properly—sitting on their porch after the girls are in bed, Biscuit at their feet, both of them trying to figure out what the right answer is.
“I don’t want to leave Montana,” Quinn admits. “I love our life here. I love Hart-Fitz and Cedar Ridge and the cabin and all of it. But I also know this opportunity could help me influence environmental policy for the entire country instead of just our projects.”
“So we move to DC.”
“You’d do that? Leave Hartford Construction and your family and Montana for my career?”
“You left Seattle and your firm and your whole life for me,” Cole points out. “Fair’s fair.”
“That was different—”
“It’s not different. It’s partnership. You supported my dreams, I support yours. If this is what you want, we make it work.”
Quinn’s crying now because Cole would absolutely uproot their entire life for her career advancement without hesitation or resentment.
“I don’t know if it’s what I want,” she admits. “Part of me wants it desperately. Part of me wants to stay exactly where we are.”
“Then let’s make a list. Pros and cons. Like the logical lawyer you are.”
They spend the next hour listing everything—pros of DC (national impact, policy influence, career advancement) and cons (leaving Montana, uprooting kids, leaving family and community), pros of staying (life they’ve built, Hart-Fitz success, stability for girls) and cons (missing national policy opportunity, wondering ‘what if’).
“The lists are equal,” Quinn says, staring at their work.
“So we need a tiebreaker.”
“What’s the tiebreaker?”
Cole takes her hand. “What does your gut say? Not your logical brain or your ambitious career planning. Your gut. What do you want?”
Quinn sits with that question.
Really sits with it.
Imagines life in DC—important work, policy influence, making a difference at the highest levels.
Imagines life in Montana—Hart-Fitz, the cabin, Cedar Ridge, the community they’ve built.
“I want to stay,” she says quietly. “I want the policy work to matter, but I want our life here more. I want our partnership running Hart-Fitz. I want the girls growing up in Montana. I want to keep doing the work we’re doing, even if it’s slower and smaller than national policy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely sure. The DC job would be amazing. But what we have here is irreplaceable.”
She calls the agency the next day and declines.
“I appreciate the offer immensely,” Quinn says. “But my work is here. My partnership is here. I can have more impact through our model continuing to expand than I could trying to change policy from inside the federal bureaucracy.”
“We understand. If you ever reconsider, the door remains open.”
After hanging up, Quinn feels simultaneously relieved and slightly terrified that she just turned down a dream job.
“No regrets?” Cole asks that night.
“No regrets. This is where I belong. With you, building Hart-Fitz, raising our daughters in Montana.” She kisses him. “Some opportunities aren’t worth the cost of leaving what you have.”
“You’re sure? Because I meant it—I’d move to DC if that’s what you needed.”
“I know you would. That’s why I’m sure this is right. Because you’d sacrifice your life for mine, which means I know you understand why I’m choosing our shared life over career advancement.”
“Our shared life is pretty great.”
“Our shared life is perfect. Chaotic and messy and nothing like I planned, but perfect.”
Hart-Fitz continues to grow—they land a major contract designing sustainable infrastructure for an entire Colorado town, get featured in another national publication, train three more associates in their collaborative model—and Quinn realizes she made the right choice.
Not because the DC job wouldn’t have been amazing.
But because this work, this partnership, this life is exactly what she’s supposed to be doing.
Building things with Cole.
Raising their daughters.
Changing how development happens through example and persistence and collaboration.
One project at a time.
One terrible decision leading to the next.
Until her whole life is built from those choices.
And it’s perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
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