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Did it feel good?

Hell fucking no.

But I knew my dad would do the same for me if it ever came down to it. He’d sell everything, give me the shirt off his back if I asked. That’s what family did. That’s what we did for each other, just the two of us against the world after Mom left.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said.

She printed out a slip and said, “Sign this. I want you to know once this is done, it can’t be reversed.”

“I know,” I whispered.

She looked from me to the computer and slowly typed several buttons, like she was giving me a chance to back out.

I didn’t.

“The transfer is complete. And between the two of us?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, “Your dad is officially out of foreclosure.”

I let out a teary sigh. “Thank you, Jess.”

She smiled at me. “You’re welcome, Mags.”

I walked out of the bank, feeling the weight of what I’d just done. Sitting in my car, I had to take a few minutes to decompress, to tell myself that it would be okay, that I would figure out a way to own the salon and be with Rhett.

Even if it didn’t seem possible right now.

Even if all the odds seemed to be stacked against us.

Because the odds had already been stacked against us before—I came back to this town hating and hurting, and Rhett had patiently turned around my hardened heart. I had to believe we could make this work too. Because if I couldn’t believe, I’d be unable to move right now, take one step in front of the other.

But first I needed to see my dad.

I drove a few minutes from the bank to my childhood home. And for a moment, I just sat outside, taking it in. The tan hardie board siding, the lilac bushes on either side of the front door, and the lawn that liked to grow through all the cracks in the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a mansion by any means. It really wasn’t that different from the houses on either side, but this house had always been home. I didn’t have a memory in my life where it wasn’t a safe place for me to rest my head at night or bring a friend over or just hang out with my family. It housed all the good times, before Mom left, where it was the three of us, one happy family. It was the place where Dad and I recovered, made new memories, just the two of us. And it was the place I could come back to, no matter how far I moved away. This was our windmill.

A commercial came over the radio, and I shut the car off, opening the door and getting out. The walk down the sidewalk felt normal and heavy at the same time. I’d done this a million times before, but always as the child who needed to be rescued. Never as the one who helped my dad.

Maybe this was the lesson I needed to learn from all of this—the fact that I didn’t need to be saved. I could figure things out, no matter how hard they got. I could survive the lows and hold out hope for the highs.

I usually walked right into the house, but today felt different, especially seeing his pickup out front. Dad was out of work until his semi got fixed and grappling with the disappointment of not being where he thought he’d be in life. I knocked on the door.

Eileen let out a warning bark. “Come in,” he yelled through the door.

I walked inside, noticing his Gibson Trucking hat hanging on the rack at the entrance. He usually wore it all day every day.

I picked it up, holding the bill in my hands. A few steps into the house, I saw my dad sitting in his recliner, watching TV, still in a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt. Unshaven. Depressed.

“Dad?” I said, looking at him.

He turned his head toward me, and I noticed the redness in his eyes before he looked back to the TV. “I know I need to get up and do something, but I need a day to wallow, okay?”

I looked down at the hat in my hands and then back to my dad. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how the Gibsons did life.

I walked to the TV and turned it off. “Get up.”

He studied me. “Why? What’s the freaking point?”

I shook my head at him. “Do you remember when Mom left and I was losing all my hair and I told you I wanted to do school online? Just stop showing up?”