Chapter 18 #2
“Hey,” Christina laughed through her tears. “Angus is a perfectly good name.”
As they headed inside, everyone talking over each other about doctors and due dates and nursery plans, Christina felt something shift in her chest. The fear was still there—it probably always would be. But underneath it was something else. Something that felt like hope.
She put her hand on her stomach, still flat but not for much longer.
“Well, baby,” she whispered. “Looks like you’re stuck with all of us. Hope you’re ready for the ride.”
* * *
Two nights later, Tara stood at the stove stirring a pot of chili, the rich smell of cumin and tomatoes filling the kitchen.
Through the window, she could see lights glowing in Ally’s tiny house, but she hadn’t seen her daughter emerge all day.
Not even to check on the horses since the young man Colton hired was doing it for him.
Ever since Christina’s announcement, the cottage had been buzzing with baby talk and planning.
But Ally had been quiet through all of it, participating when directly asked but otherwise retreating into herself.
Tara knew that particular kind of silence—the kind that came from a heart that was breaking in private.
She ladled the chili into a thermos, the steam carrying memories of Sunday dinners when the kids were small. Back when a warm meal and a hug could fix most problems. If only it were still that simple.
The cornbread came out golden, and she wrapped it in a clean towel, still warm from the oven. Will looked up from his book as she gathered everything.
“Going to check on our girl?”
“She’s been hiding ever since she came back from New York. And when Colton wasn’t here for Christmas... Something’s wrong.”
“Want company?”
Tara paused at the door, considering. Will’s steady presence was always a comfort, but something told her this conversation needed to happen between mother and daughter.
“Not this time. But thank you.”
The walk across the yard felt longer today. She knocked softly on the bright green door, listening to the melancholy music playing inside.
“Ally? It’s Mom. I brought dinner.”
“Come in,” came the muffled reply.
Tara pushed the door open to find heartbreak personified.
Ally was curled on her small sofa in an oversized sweater and thick socks, Daisy’s golden head resting heavily in her lap, the cat curled up behind her.
The dog’s eyes were sad too, like she understood that something fundamental had shifted in their world.
The tiny house showed signs of neglect, with dishes in the sink, yesterday’s clothes draped over chairs, and the trash was overflowing.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, setting the thermos on her small table. “Thought you might be hungry.”
Ally looked up, and Tara’s heart clenched at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and hollow cheeks. She’d been crying. A lot.
“Thanks, Mom. Smells good.”
“Chili and cornbread. Your comfort food when you were little.” Tara settled into the chair across from her, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to avoid crowding. “Want to tell me what happened?”
For a moment, it seemed like her daughter might give her the usual ‘I’m fine’ routine. But then her face crumpled completely, and the tears she’d been holding back for days finally broke free.
“He’s gone,” she whispered, her voice raw and broken. “Colton’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”
Tara moved to the sofa immediately, gathering her daughter into her arms the way she had when Ally was small and the world felt too big and scary. Ally collapsed against her, her whole body shaking with sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep and primal.
“Oh, honey,” Tara murmured, stroking her hair. It was soft and smelled like the lavender shampoo she’d used since high school. “What happened?”
Through broken words and gasping breaths, the story tumbled out. New York. The modeling offers. The endorsement deals worth millions. The hotel room conversation where everything fell apart.
“He asked me to come with him,” Ally sobbed into her shoulder. “To share his life, travel with him, be part of that whole world. And I said no.”
“And that’s when you knew.”
Ally pulled back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “That’s when I knew I loved him too much to ask him to be someone he’s not. And that he loves that life too much to give it up, even for love.”
Tara’s heart broke watching her daughter try to compose herself, seeing the maturity in her words even as she fell apart.
“That must have been impossibly hard.”
“It was.” Ally’s voice cracked. “But it was also right. We want different things, Mom. I want this—” she gestured around the tiny house, toward the windows that looked out on the peaceful lake.
“I want quiet mornings and simple problems and the freedom to build something with my own hands. He wants cameras and contracts and crowds of people telling him how amazing he is.”
“There’s nothing wrong with either of those things.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so awful.” Fresh tears spilled over. “If he were terrible, or if we didn’t love each other, it would be easier. But he’s wonderful, and we do love each other, and it still isn’t enough.”
Daisy whined softly and nudged Ally’s hand with her nose, offering the wordless comfort that only dogs seemed to understand was needed.
“He left Daisy with me,” Ally continued, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Said she wouldn’t be happy in the city. But I think he wanted me to have something good to remember.”
Tears pricked Tara’s own eyes. “That sounds like something someone who loves you very much would do.”
“It hurts so much, Mom.” Ally’s voice was small, like the little girl she’d once been. “I thought I was done feeling like I wasn’t enough for someone.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Tara cupped her face in her hands. “This isn’t about not being enough. This is about being brave enough to know what you need and strong enough to choose it, even when it breaks your heart.”
“But what if I made the wrong choice? What if I should have tried harder to make it work?”
Tara was quiet for a moment, thinking about her own marriage. About all the years she’d spent trying to be the woman her ex-husband wanted instead of the woman she was. About the price of losing yourself for love.
“Do you remember when you were twelve and wanted to quit violin to play soccer?”
Ally nodded, confusion flickering across her tear-stained face.
“You were good at the violin. Really good. But every time you picked it up, you looked miserable. And when you talked about soccer, your whole face lit up.” Tara smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I could have made you stick with the violin because it was more ‘practical’ or because we’d already paid for lessons.
But making you choose something that dimmed your light wouldn’t have been love, it would have been selfish. ”
“I don’t understand.”
“Love isn’t about holding on so tight that you squeeze the life out of what you’re trying to protect.
Sometimes love is knowing when to let go, even when it destroys you.
You didn’t make Colton choose between his dreams and you.
You chose yourself, and you gave him the freedom to choose himself too. ”
Ally was quiet for a long moment, processing her mother’s words. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered.
“I know you do. And you probably will for a while. That’s okay. Missing someone isn’t a sign that you made the wrong choice, it’s a sign that what you had was real and worth grieving.”
Tara’s phone buzzed in her coat pocket, but she ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. Her daughter needed her full attention right now.
“Will I ever stop hurting?”
“Yes,” Tara said with absolute certainty. “Maybe not today or tomorrow, or even next month, but yes. And when you do, you’ll be grateful that you honored who you are instead of trying to become someone else.”
They sat in silence, listening to the wind and the crackling of Ally’s fire. Daisy had fallen asleep between them, her gentle snoring somehow soothing.
“I should probably eat something,” Ally said eventually.
“Yes, you should. You need your strength.”
“For what?”
“For building the life you want. For growing your business. And for healing your heart.” Tara stood and moved to her daughter’s tiny kitchen, retrieving bowls and spoons. “This is just the beginning of your story, sweetheart. Not the end.”
As she ladled the warm chili into bowls, the rich aroma of cumin and tomatoes filling the small space, Tara felt the familiar satisfaction of nourishing someone she loved.
It was such a simple thing, sharing a meal, but it was also fundamental, the way mothers had been caring for their children since the beginning of time.
“This is perfect,” Ally said, accepting her bowl and wrapping her hands around its warmth. “I haven’t had a real meal in days.”
“I could tell.” She settled back into her chair, savoring her own spoonful of chili. “Your cupboards are practically bare.”
“I haven’t felt much like eating.”
“Heartbreak has a way of stealing your appetite along with everything else.”
For now, she was exactly where she needed to be. Sitting with her daughter, sharing a simple meal, and offering the kind of comfort that could only come from someone who loved you unconditionally.
“Mom?” Ally said around a spoonful of chili.
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For understanding. For not trying to fix it.”
“Sometimes the best thing a mother can do is sit with her child’s pain and remind them they’re not alone.”
As Tara gathered their empty bowls and moved to the tiny sink, she felt the rightness of this moment settle around them. Her daughter was hurting, would probably hurt for a while longer, but she was also strong. Stronger than she knew.
“Will you stay a little longer?” Ally asked, her voice small.
“As long as you need me to.”