Chapter Two
One Cornfield From a Breakdown
“ W here the hell am I?” I mutter, turning down Fleetwood Mac so I concentrate on the maze of winding country roads.
The GPS in my temporary lease chirps, rerouting for the fifth time, and I barely resist the urge to toss it into a ditch. I’m one wrong turn away from needing a search party.
I bump up the heat, rubbing my arms against the chill creeping in. The black satin tank top I threw on this morning is too small, clinging to me like a bad hangover and doing absolutely nothing to keep me warm.
I’d hoped to find my favorite sweater before leaving, but it’s probably buried somewhere in the mess of half-unpacked moving boxes back at my tiny new rental. Instead, all I could find was a black suit I thrifted back in New York, the tank, and some sky-high heels, since the pants are way too long.
The outfit’s not my style in the least, but it’s my first house visit at my new job, and I’m making a futile attempt at professionalism.
A sudden chime blasts through the car’s Bluetooth system, making me jump.
The oversized dash screen lights up with a picture of my best friend, Abigail Murphy, and me in footy pajamas—beyond drunk and surrounded by snacks.
Fairest Feral Witch of Them All flashes in bold letters, and I grin, a pang of homesickness twisting my gut as I answer.
“Please tell me you haven’t been murdered by a local with a pitchfork already.”
“I mean… the odds are narrowing,” I mutter, glancing nervously at a crooked mailbox I definitely passed ten minutes ago. “I think my GPS is gaslighting me.”
She laughs, and I can practically see her curled up on her Brooklyn couch, messy, dark bun perched atop her head, snacking on something I’m sad I can’t eat.
“I take it you’re lost?”
“I’m not lost.” I’m super lost . “I’m just... aggressively rerouting.”
“To where, exactly?”
“I’m heading to a house in Wildwood, a little town twenty minutes away from Heart Springs. The case is new, started off with someone named Ethel, but her appendix burst last night and now she’s on emergency leave. I’m stepping in until she’s back since I don’t have any cases of my own yet.”
“Look at you,” she coos. “You’ve been at your new job less than a week, and you’re already putting out fires all by yourself.”
Her words twist something in my gut. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as hell about doing this home assessment alone. Back in New York, we never went anywhere without a partner—it wasn’t safe.
But Summit County’s office is way smaller, and they simply don’t have the resources for protocol like that.
“I don’t know about putting out any fires.” I sigh. “Ethel only had a few days on the case, and since everything is so rural here, she seems to have been struggling to gather intake info. The file’s practically empty.”
She clicks her tongue. “And your boss passed that off to you without any help?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘ Just get eyes on the place, document, assess. We’ll go from there. ’ Then told me good luck with this long, solemn look that freaked me out.”
Abby claps with glee, the sound so loud through my speakers that I wince.
“Please, oh, please tell me your boss is hot as hell. Like, silver daddy in slacks energy. Tell me he had that whole I will protect thee and rearrange your insides look.” She sucks in a breath. “Lie if you have to. I won’t know.”
I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “Abby. He’s like seventy, smells like arthritis cream, and I’m pretty sure I saw a cane in his office.”
“I could get into impact play,” she murmurs.
“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”
“No! Don’t leave me!” she cries pitifully. “I’m already withering away without you.”
I scoff, but a smile tugs at my lips. “Can we stop talking about my boss now? I’m nervous as it is.”
“I guess.” She sighs. “Why are you nervous? You’ve been a social worker for years. You’ve dealt with some really hard shit and survived.”
“These families… they don’t have a Safe Haven like we did in the city.
There aren’t any backup teams, established protocols, or fully staffed departments.
It’s just a team of, like, ten at most. And sometimes, the difference between a child slipping through the cracks or finding a future is one exhausted caseworker who’s willing to show up anyway. ”
A beat of silence passes before she says, “That was so hot.” She moans. “Say it again, but slower .”
I laugh, easing up a little as the fields roll by in waves of green and gold. Cows. Barns. A tractor that looks older than America. There’s even a dog lying in the middle of a dirt road.
It’s absurd.
And yet, part of me exhales at the sight of it. Something buried deep tugs loose—nostalgia wrapped in hard, beautiful memories.
It’s been a long time since I’ve spent any time in the country, but I’ve always loved it.
The quiet, and stillness. The way everything smells like grass and dirt and possibilities. Like Ms. Robin’s back porch when the sun was going down and the crickets were just starting to sing.
But, that was years ago, and since then, I’ve changed. Maybe I’m not cut out for country roads or tiny towns anymore.
“Did I fuck up, Abbs?” I swallow roughly. “What if I can’t handle this?”
“By this , do you mean your new job, the adventure of a lifetime, or the real reason you moved to the middle of nowhere, South Dakota?”
“All of the above,” I choke out.
Abby tuts. “This is your path, Georgia. I know it in my soul. Good things are coming.”
I don’t answer. Not right away. Because I want to believe her. I want to believe that this leap wasn’t a mistake. That trading the tight-knit, well-oiled machine of Safe Haven for Summit County was brave, not stupid.
That I didn’t ruin my life by selling most of my possessions and flying halfway across the country to start over in a tiny town, sight unseen, with nothing but a binder of questions, an autoimmune disorder, a suitcase filled with baggage, and a heart full of dreams.
Unfortunately, only time will tell.
For now, I have to get my mind right and focus on what’s right in front of me—the future of a tiny little girl who just lost her parents, and the man who’s supposed to heal her through her grief.
The click of my blinker fills the silent car at a four-way stop, but no one’s around, so I grab the file and scan it again.
Aurora Grace Vernal.
Eight months old, and she’s already lost everyone who’s ever loved her.
She was in a car accident with her parents a week ago.
Her mom and dad were pronounced dead at the scene, and Aurora is now in the pediatric intensive care unit at the only hospital in Summit County—Rydell General—over an hour away.
I haven’t had time to ascertain the extent of her injuries, but Ethel noted she’s recovering well.
The rest of the file’s pretty much blank. The number for a probate attorney who filed the parents’ will, and the letter of intent stating the guardian. But the attorney is on vacation, so there’s no copy of the letter yet, just the guardian's name, age, and a rural address.
Kade William Archer. Thirty-One.
Nothing else. That’s all I have to go by. That, and my boss’s order to evaluate the guardian and his home and inform him of the mediation set one week from today.
For all I know, Ethel will be back by then, and I’ll be off the case, but that doesn’t take away the weight of my job today.
“Are you alright?” Abby asks, as if she can tell I’m spiraling from hundreds of miles away. “Do you need me to send you a picture of my boobs?”
I scoff, smiling, and finally make my turn. “No, thanks. I’ve seen them enough to last a lifetime.”
She laughs but quickly sobers. “Seriously. What’s going on?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” I grip the wheel tighter.
I know I can handle the job. I was trained for this. I studied, prepared, got the damn degree, and passed the licensing exams. Then, I studied again to transfer my license to South Dakota. I know the rules, the assessments, the legal protocols.
But I didn’t train for this feeling . And no matter how many bad things you see, it never gets easier.
Neither does the weight of deciding whether a baby ends up in the arms of a stranger with no history. Not when you know that if you get it wrong, it won’t just be a mark on a file, it’ll shape someone’s entire life.
Something I can relate to all too well.
“I’m not used to being on my own in this,” I admit. “Back at Safe Haven, we had a process, support, and backup. People I could go to if something didn’t sit right.”
“You had a village.”
“Exactly,” I whisper.
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I keep my eyes on the road, refusing to let myself unravel. Instead, I take the next turn, jaw tight, and glance at the GPS again. My chest stutters with quiet relief when I see the mile countdown flash—two minutes away.
“Hey, Georgia?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget… you’re not alone just because you’re far away.”
And there it is.
The reason I refuse to let go of Abigail Murphy, even when my broken brain tells me to run before I lose her, too.
My eyes sting, and I blink fast, like that'll help. Like I can shove the emotion back down where it belongs, but an undeniable sniffle slips free. A reflex.
Abby’s quiet voice cuts through the car, sharp with suspicion. “Wait. Are you… are you actually crying?”
I suck in a breath. “No.”
“Oh, my God! You are.” Her voice climbs an octave. “You never cry! What the hell? I’m officially worried. Come home. Or, no—better yet, I’m coming to South—”
“I’m here, gotta go!” I jab at the end button on my steering wheel.
“Don’t you dare die!” she yells just as the call cuts out.
I let out a long, uneven exhale, my fingers trembling slightly as they drop from the wheel. My chest feels tight, heart thudding like I just ran a mile instead of having an existential crisis in a car so silent, it feels like I’m emotionally unraveling inside a padded cell.
“You have arrived,” the GPS with a robotic, British accent, announces.