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My eyebrows pinch. I knew my parents were high school sweethearts, but I never heard they took a break or that Mom left town at one point.

“Your mother always had a bigger spirit than this small town could contain. Not to say she wasn’t happy when she came back. She was. She had the ranch, the bar. She had you kids, and that became her way to explore and grow. It changes when you have a family. You get to see the world through your children’s eyes. She was content with her life.”

Tears burn in my eyes; my throat tightens. “She would have been so disappointed in me.”

Dad sits up straighter, shaking his head. “Don’t think that for a second. Your mother would have been so proud of the woman you are. She always knew someday you’d fly free and spread your wings. I was worried when you stayed in Lanceleaf after you graduated high school because I always knew you were meant for more than this, but your mom assured me that in time you’d find the courage to put yourself out there. It breaks my heart that it took losing her for you to finally feel like you could let go of us and find yourself, but I’m so proud you did. Since you were a little girl, your life revolved around your brothers and your mom. You deserved to do something for you. I’m so proud of you for choosing the path you needed to heal. You couldn’t have done that here, could you?”

I shake my head because he’s right. I couldn’t heal here; I was suffocating. Around every corner there was a memory.

Guilt.

Regrets.

I could barely walk into Ransack without bile rising in my throat. Everything was a reminder of her.

So I left.

And somehow, somewhere, out there by myself, I came to terms with my losses, even if I never fully escaped that guilt. When I returned, I finally felt like my own person, not just who I was to the people in this town, but a woman comfortable in her skin. I was finally ready to embrace home again because I had embraced myself.

“We all heal in our own ways, at our own speeds. I know that. Your brothers know that. And we’re happy to have you back now, but, honey, you have to let go of that guilt. You have to stop punishing yourself for the past and feeling like you owe this family something. You need to let yourself be happy. Your mother would want it more than anything in this world.”

A tear slips down my cheek, landing on the back of his hand. “What if I can’t?”

“You can.” He smiles softly. “You already have. I don’t know how you and Shane started, but he brought out that girl you were before all this. The girl who had hope and a wild spirit. I hope you work through it with him because he sure seems to make you happy. But even if you go your separate ways, I hope you hold on to that girl he helped you embrace again. She’s got too much fire to just burn out. From what I gather, Shane sees that too.”

Dad’s right. Shane sees it and embraces it. He stokes it.

Even when I’m angry or defeated or at a loss, he’s there, reminding me that I’m strong. Reminding me I’m someone I haven’t felt like in a long time.

“I said some things when he dropped me off,” I admit, frowning. “Some things I didn’t mean.”

“If he’s the man I think he is, then he’ll understand. If not, he doesn’t deserve you anyway. Never settle for less than someone who accepts your everything.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He nods, squeezing my hand. “Go give him a call. I guarantee he’s willing to listen. And it will make me feel like I’m still good for something if I help fix this.”

The laugh that bursts out of me is a little sad, but there’s a weight lifted from my shoulders. All this time, I thought my family didn’t know what I was struggling with when we were all going through the same thing in different ways. It’s reassurance I didn’t realize I needed.

“And grab me a soda while you’re at it,” Dad calls after me when I cross the room.

I shake my head. “Water only. And we’re changing your diet. No more stress, and no more smoking.”

“This is the thanks I get?”

“Yes, I’m thanking you by trying to keep you here with us.”

Dad grumbles, but it’s playful. He grabs the remote to turn on the television while I slip my phone out of my purse and head into the hallway. I turned it off when I arrived because service is terrible in the hospital and I wasn’t ready to face the world outside these walls.

My phone powers on as I step outside, and a flood of missed calls and messages come through. I skim down the list, and my heart hammers as I see Shane’s name over and over again.

He’s called at least six times, trying to check in, and he’s texted even more.

Shane

I only left because you said you need your space, and I respect that, but I need you to know that doesn’t mean this is over.

Heard from Will your dad woke up this evening. I hope that brought a little light into your day. Thinking of you.