Chapter 24
Two hours later, I step out of HR with a significant severance check in my bag, a weight lifted off my shoulders, and a sense of satisfaction so deep it might actually heal something in me.
Both Kurt and Frederick are gone. Escorted out of the building with nothing but their egos and their poor decisions trailing behind them.
HR offered me my position back. A fresh start. A promotion even, if I wanted it.
But I don’t.
Not because I’m bitter but because I’m done settling. I deserve better than this place. I deserve respect, and I’m not going to spend another minute working somewhere that only remembers my worth after they’ve burned through it.
So I turned them down, head high and peace intact.
The check they handed me? More than enough to keep me afloat for months. Maybe even a year, if I’m careful. It’s not just money. It’s freedom.
I find Tish waiting for me at my old cubicle, arms crossed, lips twitching like she’s dying for an update .
“Well?” she asks the second she sees me.
“Better than I thought,” I say, trying and failing to hide the smug satisfaction in my voice.
She leans in, eyes wide. “I saw them escorting Kurt out. He looked pissed.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Her jaw drops. “So Frederick believed you?”
“Oh, girl,” I say, unable to keep the grin from spreading across my face. “Frederick was fired too.”
Tish nearly chokes. “What?”
“He’s the one who sent Kurt after me after he fired me. HR wasn’t impressed.”
“Oh my god.”
“It gets better,” I say, lowering my voice like I’m about to spill the hottest tea in Hollywood. “They offered me my job back.”
She gasps. “No.”
“I turned them down.”
Her eyes glimmer with pure joy. “You’re a legend.”
I shrug, smiling. “I’m finally feeling like it.”
And for the first time in days, I feel like myself again. No—not just myself. More than who I was before. Stronger. Clearer. Freer.
“This demands a drink,” Tish declares, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Tish,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”
She waves a dismissive hand like time is a social construct. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, after what you just pulled off? You’ve earned champagne for breakfast.”
I stifle a laugh. “Don’t you have work?”
“I did. But seeing as my boss just got fired, I think we can safely assume the office is in chaos. No one’s going to notice I’m gone.” She grins, all teeth and defiance. “Come on. Let’s toast to your badassery.”
I can’t help but laugh this time. “Let’s go.”
We walk to a nearby restaurant with a cozy little bar tucked inside. Tish orders something sparkling and celebratory, naturally, while I stick with water.
“Water?” she moans, looking offended. “We’re supposed to be celebrating, not hydrating.”
“You celebrate for the both of us,” I say, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I’ve got a letter to write.”
At that, her teasing softens. She reaches out, touching my arm. “That’s fair.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the condensation sliding down the side of my glass. “It’s time.”
“Want help?”
I shake my head. “I think this is something I need to do alone.”
She nods, raising her glass. “To finding your voice again. To clean exits and full-circle moments.”
I tap my water against her glass with a soft clink. “To Sam.”
And even though my heart aches, I know what comes next might just be the most important thing I’ve ever written.
We stay at the restaurant longer than I expected. News about Frederick and Kurt spreads like wildfire, and one by one, coworkers trickle in, drawn by curiosity, shock, and the collective desire to gossip over fries and overpriced cocktails.
At one point, I hear Jenny—the same Jenny who used to drool over Kurt in the break room—lean across the bar and say to someone, “I always had a bad feeling about him. Total snake energy. ”
Tish and I lock eyes. The look we share is all it takes. We both burst into laughter so loud it turns heads. It feels good. Like exhaling weeks of tension all in one breath.
But eventually, the crowd thins. The adrenaline fades. And the weight of the letter I still haven’t written settles back onto my chest like a stone.
“I should go,” I murmur, gathering my things.
Tish stands with me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m getting there.”
At the apartment, I change into something soft and familiar, then curl up on the couch. The sticky note with Sam’s mailing address is still on the table, untouched but not forgotten.
Then I reach for a notebook, the pages fresh and waiting. My pen hovers over the paper for a second. And then I write.
Dear Sam,
I don’t really know how to start this. I’ve written and rewritten the first sentence a dozen times already, but nothing feels right. Maybe because there’s no perfect way to say I miss you and I’m sorry at the same time.
When I left the ranch, it wasn’t by choice. I need you to know that first. Phern found out about my past job, and someone from my old station showed up while you were gone. I had no idea he was coming. I told Phern I wasn’t working on a story, and I meant it. I meant every word I ever told you.
But she didn’t believe me. And before I could explain anything, she asked me to leave. Told me to be gone before you got back.
So I left. And it broke me.
I tried to stay strong, tried to tell myself it was for the best, that I didn’t belong in a place as beautiful as Stonewater Ranch or with someone as good as you.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw your smile.
I heard your voice. I felt your arms around me like they were still holding all my broken pieces together.
You said I washed into your life with the flood, but the truth is, you were the one who pulled me from the wreckage. You reminded me who I am. You made me feel safe, seen, loved. And I’ve never felt that before. Not like this.
I don’t know what happens next. Maybe you’ve already moved on. Maybe this letter won’t even reach you. But if it does… if you’re reading this… I hope you’ll believe me when I say that loving you was never part of a story. You are the story. The best part.
If there’s still a place for me on the ranch, in your arms, anywhere…I’d give anything to come home.
Love,
Charlie
I carefully add my phone number at the bottom of the letter, hesitating for a moment before sealing the envelope. Then, with my heart in my throat, I press a kiss to the flap full of all the words I couldn’t fit on the page.
It’s a longshot. The address leads to a post office box in Sheridan. For all I know, it could be checked once a month or not at all. But someone must look eventually. And if they do, if he does then maybe my words will find their way back to him.
Still, I can’t pin my whole life on a maybe . So I stand, letter in hand, and breathe as I put it in my mailbox.
Until I know what’s next, I’m going to work on rediscovering who I am without Sam Stone. Because if this letter never reaches him or if it’s too late, I have to be strong enough to keep going. Not just survive, but live. Fully. Authentically .
And if I ever get the chance to love again, I want to do it as the woman Sam helped me remember I could be.
Even if he never knows.