Chapter 23
Kassi
The day starts the same as any other day when I have to be in the office. Coffee that tastes a little burnt, emails that look like the same pile of nonsense I sorted yesterday, and a quiet promise to myself that if I just keep my head down, I'll make it through another week.
But by mid-morning, everything changes.
My boss calls me into his office without looking up from his computer screen. His tie is crooked. His smile is worse. With the head of HR here, I have a sinking feeling of what is coming, even though her face gives nothing away.
"Kassi, come in. Close the door."
That tone. I know it before he says anything else. Stepping inside, I fold my hands in front of me like I'm back in high school waiting for detention.
He finally looks up, pretending to look sorry. "I'll keep this short. The Board's been reviewing everyone's recent numbers and... unfortunately, your department hasn't delivered what we projected."
I blink. "My department? You mean me. I'm my department."
He clears his throat, shifting in his chair. "Right. That's part of the problem. The company's restructuring. We need people who can bring in results."
I hear the word results like it's a gavel.
"Results?" I repeat. "I've hit every deadline you've handed me. Kept every report clean. I've stayed late, weekends, even when—"
"This isn't personal." The HR lady, whose name I still can't pull from my head, says.
"Well, it feels personal."
He exhales, as if my existence is an inconvenience. "There's no point dragging it out. HR will email you the exit paperwork. You'll get two weeks' severance. IT has already locked your access."
The world doesn't spin, but my stomach does.
"Is this about the development reports?" I ask, and for a second, I think he flinches. "Did I—did someone say something?"
"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he says. "Pack your things."
I stand there a heartbeat too long, then nod. My mouth moves before I can stop it. "I hope you know what you're doing."
He looks away. "I do."
The walk back to my desk feels longer than it should.
Everyone's too busy to look at me, but somehow, I know they all know.
I shove my mug, my notepad, and the photo of Emma into a cardboard box.
The last thing I unplug is my computer mouse.
It makes a tiny click when it disconnects—small, final, cruel.
Outside, the air hits me like I've stepped out of a sealed room. The sun's too bright. The parking lot smells of asphalt and exhaust. I sit in my car with the engine off, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Relief comes first, then the fear. In that moment, I'm glad I told Asher what I heard. I'm glad I didn't protect a company that couldn't care less about me. Most of all, I'm relieved to be free.
I'm free of the lies. Of pretending I don't know what they're planning. Free of watching men like him turn greed into strategy. But freedom doesn't pay rent. Freedom doesn't feed Emma.
Closing my eyes, I try to breathe through it.
I should call Asher and tell him what happened. He'd want to know. He'd probably drive into town before I finished the sentence. But I can't bring myself to dial. He has enough weight on his shoulders without mine added to it. I promised myself I wouldn't be another problem for him to solve.
So instead, I drive. Not home. Not anywhere near that office again. I head toward the library.
The old brick building sits behind a row of oaks that have stood longer than I've been alive. Following the narrow drive back behind the library, I park in front of the cabin she told me about.
The door creaks when I push it open, but the inside smells like new paint and sunlight.
It's bigger than I expected. Not fancy, but warm. Three small bedrooms. Two baths. Emma and I wouldn't have to share a bathroom anymore, and that alone sounds luxurious.
There is a small kitchen that feels like a dream because it's bigger than what I have now. The window over the sink looks out toward the edge of the trees, and I can almost see Emma there, her boots muddy, her hair wild. There's room for her to grow here. To breathe.
I walk the short hallway, fingertips brushing the walls.
The floors are wood, real and imperfect.
The kind that squeaks underfoot. The bathroom has a clawfoot tub, with the paint chipped on one side, but still beautiful.
An extra bedroom that could be used as a playroom for Emma.
I've always wanted to give her a room where we could set up a tent in one corner and a reading nook in the other.
Already, I can see our life here. Morning pancakes. School drawings on the fridge. Books stacked by the couch. For the first time in a long time, the picture in my head isn't made of fear.
But then reality catches up.
The cost of moving and boxes, and a truck I can't afford. The groceries, gas and bills waiting at home. I press my hand against the cool wall and close my eyes.
It's too good. Too much.
When I finally walk back outside, the sky's gone soft at the edges. I drive straight to Candy and North's ranch.
Candy meets me on the porch with two glasses of lemonade. She knows before I even say it.
"Well," she says, handing me a glass. "That face says something happened."
"I got fired," I say, because there's no reason to dress it up. "For 'lack of results.' Whatever that means."
Candy doesn't flinch. She just nods, already suspecting it. "You okay?"
I let out a laugh that sounds a little broken. "I don't know. I should be crying or screaming or both, but all I feel is... light. And terrified."
"That sounds about right."
"I haven't told Asher yet."
"You will when you're ready," she says simply.
Nodding, I stare down at my hands. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't just sit at home and hope the bills pay themselves."
Candy tips her head. "Did you look at the cabin?"
"I did. Candy, it's beautiful. It's more than I've ever had. Emma would have her own room and still have space for a desk and shelves. I could cook without bumping my hip into the counter every five seconds. But—"
She waits.
"I can't afford movers. I can barely afford gas some weeks. And I won't ask Asher. He'd offer, and I can't let him think I'm using him to fix my life."
Candy's smile turns knowing. "You think too much of that man's pride and not enough of your own grace. But fine. You don't have to ask him. You've got a small army already lined up."
"What?"
"North has got his truck and a trailer. Dash and Sky have one too.
They'll help. Josh and Jenna will come if I mention you need an extra pair of hands.
Maybe even Ben if we bait him with pie. The diner always has boxes they will save to pack with, and I have some sitting in the back room of the library.
I bet a run at the dumpster at the back of the downtown shops will get us everything we need. "
I blink. "Candy—"
"Don't 'Candy' me. We'll make a day of it. You don't need to lift anything heavier than your coffee cup."
Emotion builds in my throat before I can stop it. "I can't let you do that."
"You can, and you will. You think we'd let you and Emma haul your lives alone?"
Pressing the heel of my hand2 to my eyes, I try not to cry. "You're too good to me."
She shrugs. "That's just what happens when you love people."
Her words hit me harder than she probably meant them to. I sink into the porch chair, staring out at the field where Emma was helping North feed the horses the other day.
"I don't want to tell her I lost my job," I admit quietly. "She worries more than she should. She's just a kid, but she's always watching me for cracks."
Candy's voice softens. "The job's still yours if you want it. Library assistant, remember? Full-time, benefits and cabin included. You don’t have to tell her you lost your job just tell her you found a better one."
I shake my head slowly. "It feels too easy. Like I'm walking into a dream I don't deserve."
"Maybe that's the problem," Candy says. "You've spent so long surviving that peace feels suspicious."
I let out a shaky breath. "You really think I could do it?"
"I don't think. I know." She leans back, watching me with a small smile. "You've run data systems and written reports for men who didn't know the difference between a spreadsheet and a sandwich. You can handle a library catalog. And you love books. That matters."
It hits me then—how much I've missed being around things that matter. Not numbers. Not lies. Stories.
"I'd take a pay cut," I say, still wrestling with the practicality.
"You'd take a breath," Candy counters. "Utilities are covered. The rent's gone. You'd have room to save, even if it's a little at a time. Hours will work with Emma's school schedule, and she's welcome there any time she isn't in school. That's worth more than a paycheck."
I stare at the horizon, where the sun is just starting to dip behind the hills. It turns everything gold—the barn roof, the fence line, the dust in the air.
"It's a big change," I whisper.
"Good," Candy says. "You need a big change. You've been living like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop."
I laugh softly. "You mean besides the one that just did?"
She grins. "Exactly."
We sit in silence for a minute, sipping lemonade while the horses snort in the distance. My mind turns over everything—fear, hope, the ache of uncertainty, and that small bright thing under all of it that might be peace.
"I have to tell my landlord," I finally say. "The lease renews next month. If I tell him now, maybe he'll let me out early, and I can save what's left of the deposit."
Candy nods. "You tell him tomorrow. We'll start packing this week. The ranch hands can load the heavy stuff, and I'll bribe Dash and Sky with dinner. By next weekend, you'll be in that cabin."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is. You just keep breathing. We'll handle the rest."
Her confidence steadies me in ways I didn't realize I needed.
By the time I pick up Emma and pull into the apartment lot, I already know what I'm going to do.
I'm going to take the job. The cabin. And the risk.
Inside, the apartment feels smaller than ever. The walls close in around the boxes of toys and the stack of bills on the counter. I set my purse down and take a deep breath, steadying myself before walking into Emma's room, where she bolted as soon as we walked in.
She tilts her head. "You look happy. What happened?"
Her ability to read me never stops surprising me. I take her small hand in mine, feeling her warmth and the quiet steadiness that centers me.
"Well," I say carefully, "I have some big news."
Her eyes widen. "Good news or bad news?"
"Good," I promise. "The very best kind. You know how we go to the library with Candy sometimes?"
"Yeah," she says, smiling. "I like the reading corner. It smells like paper and cookies."
I laugh softly. "It does. Well, Candy asked me to come work with her there. I'm going to help her take care of the books, plan storytime, and keep everything running."
Emma gasps. "You're gonna work with Candy? At the library?"
"I sure am," I say. "And you know what else?" I pause just long enough for her to lean forward. "There's a little house right behind the library. Candy showed it to me. It's got trees all around it and a porch big enough for two rocking chairs. It's going to be ours."
Her mouth drops open. "A house?"
"Mm-hmm. A real one. With three bedrooms, so you'll have your own room and maybe even a little corner for your art stuff. And the kitchen's bigger, so we can bake cookies without bumping elbows."
Emma bounces in place, clutching my hand. "Can we paint my room? Like pink and purple? And maybe get a bookshelf?"
I laugh, heart swelling at the sight of her excitement. "I think we can manage that. Maybe even some fairy lights for your window."
She squeals, then throws her arms around my neck. "I love it already. When do we move?"
"Soon," I say, hugging her back tightly. "In just a couple of weeks. Candy and North are going to help us. We'll pack our things, and then we'll make it feel just like home."
She pulls back to look at me, her eyes bright and curious. "Will Asher and his horses be close too?"
The question tugs at something deep in my chest, but I smile. "Close enough that we can still visit, if we want to."
She nods, satisfied. "I can't wait. Can we make pancakes the first morning we live there?"
"We can make pancakes and hot chocolate," I say, brushing her hair back. "It'll be a celebration."
Emma grins. "It's gonna be the best house ever."
I kiss her forehead. "It is. Because you'll be in it."
Later that night, when she finally crawls under her blanket, she's still smiling. "I'm gonna dream about our new house," she murmurs sleepily.
I sit there for a long time after her eyes close, watching her chest rise and fall. The sound of her even breathing fills the little room.
The fear is still there—of money, of change, of what comes next—but it's quieter now, softened by something steadier. Hope.
I look around at the cracked walls, the scuffed floor, the life we've built in this small space. It's been safe, but safety isn't the same as living.
Standing, I turn off the light. The moonlight spills across the floor—a path leading forward.
Tomorrow I'll call Candy. I'll tell my landlord and start packing.
And for the first time in years, the future doesn't feel like something to survive. It feels like something we get to build.