Page 154 of Stay Wild Darlin’

Harleigh chimed in without hesitation. “She cares. Cora’s her whole world.”

I nodded slowly, the words catching a little in my throat. “She loves Cora,” I said. Then I added, quieter, but clearer than anything I’d said all night, “I love her.”

Something sobered in her gaze, sober in the way that doesn’t come from detox, but from surrender. From truth. “Beau, give me a paper.”

He blinked, surprised. “What?”

“A paper,” she repeated. “Something. Anything.”

Beau furrowed his brows, but walked around the table to a side drawer and pulled out a blank sheet of printer paper, placing it in front of her without a word.

“A pen,” Brooke said, almost to herself.

Fable reached across the counter, grabbed one from the ceramic holder, and handed it over.

Brooke looked down at the blank sheet, then up at Harleigh . . . then at me.

“Let me give her a hug. Just one hug before I go.”

Harleigh glanced in my direction.

I exhaled and gave a small nod. “You can hug her, but only while I hold her.”

Brooke nodded tearfully.

“Can you go get her?” I asked Harleigh who gave me the barest smile and disappeared out the back door.

Brooke stared at the blank page, pen shaking in her hand. Her eyes were still puffy, rimmed red, but a stillness enveloped the room.

“I don’t want custody,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. “I don’t want the fight.” She looked at me for a second, and then back at the paper. “I know she doesn’t know me. I don’t deserve her to. I’m not going to be the reason she grows up confused or scared or wondering who’s gonna show up that day.”

Beau stepped a little closer, voice gentle. “You sure about this?”

Brooke nodded, slowly, still staring at the paper like it was heavier than anything she’d ever held. “I’m not well. I know that. I haven’t been for a long time. I’m not ready to be responsible. I’m not ready to be anybody’s anything. If I ever get there . . . if I ever do get clean, I’ll be okay knowing I made this choice now, when it mattered.”

She took a deep breath and finally put pen to paper. Her handwriting was shaky, uneven.

I, Brooke, relinquish any and all intention of seeking custody of Cora Culpepper. I acknowledge that I have not been present and do not wish to pursue legal or physical custody now or in the future.

If and when I am clean and stable, I will respectfully reach out through proper channels and request contact—only if it is safe and in Cora’s best interest.

She paused, eyes misted again, then looked up at me. “I know this isn’t legally binding. It won’t hold in court, but if you show the judge . . .”

I nodded. “It’s still something. It’s a start.”

I already knew the steps. I’d looked it up months ago. In Texas, a parent has to show consistent absence for at least six months. A full year gave the case more weight. While this paper wouldn’t make it official, it would help. It showed Brooke’s intent to not parent.

She nodded once, then signed her name with a trembling hand and set the pen down.

That was it.

No screaming.

No drama.

Just a girl who’d finally stopped running and realized she had nothing left to chase.

As Harleigh’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, Brooke spoke again, softer this time. “You were right, you know.”