Chapter 26 #2
Not because it was my job to save him. Not because love meant absorbing someone else’s chaos. But because I had the capacity to offer steadiness. To build a life that wasn’t centered on fear or urgency. To be rooted without being rigid. Present without being possessive.
I liked the idea of that version of myself.
I liked the idea of us here—not rushed, not dramatic, not hiding in stolen nights, but existing in daylight. Making choices instead of reacting to wounds.
I pulled out my phone and opened my email.
My Austin life sat there like a stack of papers I’d been pretending not to see.
A calendar invite for a staff meeting next week. A reminder about a client intake. A note from HR about continuing education hours. A “hope you’re doing well!” from a coworker I liked, but not enough to build my entire life around.
I’d been unhappy there for a while.
Austin had been a place I went with my mother when she started disappearing in slow motion and grief became something I carried.
I’d made a life there because I needed to prove I could.
Because I needed to be functional. Because I needed the world to stop looking at me like tragedy was my whole identity.
But lately, that life had started to feel like clothing that fit once and didn’t anymore.
And now Charleston was in my blood. The city. The salt. The history. The version of me that wanted to be brave. The version of me that wanted to stop treating her own desires like they were something to be managed.
And yes.
Wyatt.
I didn’t romanticize it. I didn’t pretend love was enough all by itself.
But love was a compass.
And mine was pointing loud and clear.
I opened my contacts and found my supervisor’s number.
My thumb hovered.
Then I hit call before my brain could negotiate.
It rang twice.
Then: “Sophie? Hey—how’s Charleston?”
“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “It’s … good. Actually, I’m calling because I need to talk to you about work.”
There was a pause—tiny, professional. “Okay.”
I swallowed once. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’ve realized I’m ready for a change.”
“Okay,” she repeated, softer now. Not alarmed. Just attentive.
“I’m not coming back,” I said.
The words landed in the air like they were heavier than they sounded. Like they carried more than just a job. Like they carried an entire version of my life.
Silence stretched.
Then my supervisor exhaled. “Are you giving notice, or—”
“I want to do this right,” I said quickly. “I can give you a full two weeks. I can wrap up what I need to wrap up. I’ll write transition notes. I can even do remote check-ins if you need them. But … I’m resigning.”
Another pause. A kinder one.
“Is this about burnout?” she asked.
“It’s about alignment,” I said, surprising myself with how clean the truth felt. “I’ve been headed in a different direction for a while. I just didn’t have the courage to admit it.”
Her voice softened. “I’m sad to hear it, but I respect it.”
My throat tightened a little because I hadn’t expected that. The respect. The lack of guilt-trip.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Send me an email with your formal notice,” she said. “We’ll follow procedure. And Sophie?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope you choose something that makes you feel alive.”
The words hit deeper than she knew.
“I am,” I said quietly. “I think I am.”
We said goodbye. Professional, warm, clean.
When I hung up, my hands shook a little—not from fear, exactly. From adrenaline. From the sensation of having jumped off something high and realizing I could fly, if I wanted.
I sat there for a second with my palms flat on the desk.
Okay.
I had savings that would hold me for a while, but now it was time to build the next step.
I opened the browser and typed: jobs in charleston sc.
A flood of listings appeared.
Hospitality. Admin. Medical. Marketing. Nonprofit program coordinators. Content creators. Real estate marketing assistants. All of them proof that work existed.
I refined the search, letting my instincts lead instead of habit: community engagement Charleston.
Then: nonprofit outreach and communications.
Then: local organizations hiring in Charleston.
The more I searched, the more it started to look like a path instead of a cliff.
And the most surprising part?
I wasn’t searching like a woman trying to chase a man.
I was searching like a woman building a life she wanted—and leaving space in it for the man who belonged there.
There was a difference.
A huge one.
I opened my notes app and started listing:
· Temporary base: extended stay suite at Palmetto Rose (get rates)
· Bridge goal: private walk later (no cameras)
· Natalie interview: Aquarium Wharf (today)
Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added one more line:
· Wyatt: give space, hold steady, don’t chase, don’t shrink
I stared at that line for a long moment.
Because I could feel the temptation to make him the center of the story.
To build everything around him and call it romance.
But romance wasn’t self-abandonment.
Not the kind I wanted.
If Wyatt was going to be mine in a real way, he would have to meet me in the life I built—not rescue me from a life I hadn’t bothered to design.
And I believed he could.
Not because he was perfect.
Because he loved me.
And love—real love—rose to the occasion.
My phone buzzed then, and my heart did an automatic leap before I could stop it.
I flipped it over.
Not Wyatt.
An email from Natalie confirming location details and time, with a cheerful little note: Proud of you.
I exhaled, smiling despite myself.
Okay.
Still.
In the quiet after that, with the job listings glowing on the screen and my resignation hanging in the air like a newly opened door, I let myself think of Wyatt without letting it become a wound.
Somewhere in Charleston, he was doing what he always did when life got too big.
Moving. Running. Trying to outpace his own emotions.
He would come back.
And if he didn’t come back today, he would soon.
Because I’d seen his truth.
I closed the browser tab and started drafting the formal resignation email in my head.
Not dramatic. Not emotional. Simple and direct.
Then I stood, slung my tote over my shoulder, and walked back toward the front desk.
Sasha looked up again, like she’d been expecting me.
“Find anything good?” she asked.
“I just resigned from my job,” I said, like I was announcing I’d ordered waffles.
Sasha’s eyes widened—just a fraction. Then she laughed, delighted. “Okay, damn.”
“Yeah,” I said, and I surprised myself by laughing, too. “Yeah.”
Sasha leaned on the counter. “So, you’re serious-serious.”
“I’m serious,” I said. And then, because it mattered, I added, “But I’m not reckless. I’m intentional.”
Sasha nodded slowly, approving. “Good. Intentional gets you far.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Can you remind me what you said about the extended-stay suites?”
She tapped her keyboard. “I already sent the request to Isabel. You should get an email by lunch.”
“Thank you,” I said again, and it felt like more than politeness. It felt like gratitude for being witnessed in a moment when I was choosing myself.
Sasha’s smile softened. “Go handle your morning, Sophie.”
I blinked. “How do you know my name?”
She lifted her chin toward the room key card in my hand.
“Oh,” I said, laughing quietly at myself.
Sasha’s eyes gleamed. “Also … you look like a woman who just made a decision.”
I swallowed once, feeling heat rise behind my eyes—not tears, exactly. Something fiercer.
“I did,” I said.
“Good,” Sasha replied. “Now, go live with it.”
I turned away from the desk and headed back to the elevator, my stomach buzzing with nerves and excitement and that deep, strange certainty that I was doing the right thing—even if it scared me.