She exhales slowly, like something in her finally gave way. As if she set something down she’s been carrying far too long. And I feel it too.
Outside, the light is starting to shift, the day moving forward whether we pay attention to it or not. And for once, neither of us is thinking about what is next or what's on our to-do list—not chasing anything or trying to prove something.
I’ve got everything I was about to lose right here in my arms, but now, I’m never letting go. Because this time, I know exactly what it’s worth, and I will spend every damn day making sure she does too.
ONE YEAR LATER
Becca
The cabins are full. Not just booked—full. Every light is on, warm and steady against the dusk, windows glowing like something out of a life I used to think was reserved for other people. The river catches the last of the light through the ponderosas, and the air smells like woodsmoke from someone's fire pit.
I stand on the edge of the property for a second, taking it in. Three cabins are now officially built. Not “maybe someday”, but complete.
The first one, the tiny cabin we almost lost everything over. The second, Sam and I built together. A large one-bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. Sam’s idea for the large windows after our honeymoon to Hawaii.
And the third—the one we started after everything settled, after the success with the first two, the one that feels the most like us. It’s the largest, built for a family, a group, or friends. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms, with adorablebuilt-in Murphy beds in a loft, creating an extra cool hideaway for kids.
A car door shuts somewhere behind me, followed by laughter drifting across the gravel. Guests arriving back from dinner in town, already comfortable enough to come and go as this place belongs to them. I guess, in a way, it does, for the week. Which was exactly what I was going for.
“Becs.”
I turn at the sound of Sam’s voice. He’s walking toward me from the far side of the property, sleeves pushed up, hands a little dusty like he couldn’t help himself and had to adjust something before coming over. He's in his worn Mariners hat, flipped backwards, and the faded flannel he refuses to throw away. Some things don’t change, and I hope they never do.
“You’re staring again,” he says as he gets closer.
“I’m allowed,” I reply. “I own this view.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, stepping up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine before his hand settles at my lower back. Still my favorite place.
“You do,” he says. “All of it.”
A year ago, that sentence would’ve meant something different. It would have been referencing the postnup, the one that is still valid, but has not been thought of again. Now, it is acknowledging all that has been done to get here. The late nights, the spreadsheets, and how far we have come together.
“We did it,” I say. Because we did, as partners, I may have pushed this dream forward, but Sam helped keep it alive with my crazy ideas, project-focused weekends, and the occasional getaways, reminding me to take a break. He kisses my head and squeezes me tight, not needing to say anything.
“I got the final numbers from this month.” I glance up at him.
He groans lightly. “You’re bringing spreadsheets into this moment?”
“Always,” I say. “It’s part of my charm.”
He smiles, but there’s curiosity there. “And?”
I let it sit for a second. Not because I’m trying to be dramatic, but because the moment deserves its space.
“We’re more than covering everything,” I say. “The cabins, the overhead, everything.”
His expression shifts, not surprised exactly, but almost relieved in a way that runs deeper than money.
“And your job?” he asks.
I look back out at the cabins, the life that we built here, and what we are continuing to grow.
“I think I’m ready,” I say slowly.
“Are you sure?” Sam asks, failing to keep the hope out of his voice.
“I’m sure, I am ready to let it go, not to be tied to that security, to build my own.”
