Page 42

42

Piper

“Congrats,” Maddie deadpans, dropping a tote of groceries onto the kitchen counter. “You’re officially trending—#PenelopeUnmasked is sitting at number three.”

I raise my phone like it’s radioactive. The screen still refreshes with every ping: think-pieces condemning me, a few contrarian defenders, and a meme of my tear-stained face photoshopped onto a burning dumpster. Classy.

“Didn’t realize I’d auditioned for public enemy,” I mutter, scrolling. A fresh pile of DMs loads—half hate, half “thank you for being honest.” Go figure.

Maddie eyes me. “I get wanting integrity, but girl… you really detonated your career.”

I shrug, opening a carton of rocky-road she brought purely for emotional triage. “I couldn’t live with the lie. Sponsors, clicks, Penelope’s snark—none of it was worth feeling like slime every night.”

“Still think it was worth it?” she asks gently.

I shove a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth. “Yep. My conscience is tender but functional.”

She shakes her head, equal parts amused and exasperated. “You and your heroic spine. Let’s hope you can make your car payments with moral high ground instead of cash.”

I power up my laptop—Penelope’s dashboard loads like a digital plane crash. The analytics scream in crimson: red arrows nosediving, ad revenue dropping like a rock, followers bailing in dramatic, time-stamped waves. It’s like watching the wreckage of a life I burned down on purpose.

I click New Site , fingers hovering over the title field. For a beat, I just breathe. Then I type: True Lens.

Clean. Honest. A little raw. Just like I want to be now.

No more gossip columns. No clickbait. No manufactured scandals or scandalous headlines. Just photography. Just moments that matter. I’m done mining people’s lives for traffic spikes. If I can’t write without turning pain into currency, I won’t write at all. I’ll let my lens speak instead.

I start uploading a few shots from the party prep and the chaos after the cattle incident—snapshots that never made it into any blog folder. One stops me cold. It’s the sunset behind the paddock, captured just before things went completely off the rails. Golden haze filters through the dust, and in the center, nearly lost in the frame, is Jake.

He’s on horseback, caught mid-turn, hat low, muscles taut, lasso ready. Steering chaos with a quiet kind of command.

I stare at the image, breath catching. He looks so small in the vastness of it, but strong. Centered. It punches something in my chest—admiration, longing, regret.

Maddie leans over my shoulder. “You going all visual now?”

“Yeah.” I adjust the contrast, warming up the edges of the light. “If words just get me into trouble, maybe it’s time I shut up and listen for a while.”

She studies the image. “It’s good. Honest. Like, not just the photo—this. You.”

I shrug, trying to hide how much that means. “Still figuring it out.”

A pause. Then, quieter, “You okay not reaching out to him?”

My fingers still over the trackpad. Jake hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Hasn’t dropped by. And honestly, I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t answer me either. “He deserves space. Same with Emma.”

Maddie opens her mouth like she wants to argue. But then she nods. She gets it. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Day three of radio silence. I draft a dozen apology texts to Emma, delete them all. Anything I send now will feel like emotional blackmail— Please reply so I don’t feel like garbage. She deserves better than that.

Jake’s absence is louder. I keep picturing Violet toddling around with her wilted ranch flower, handing it to some Other Nice Lady in Jake’s life because I torched the audition. The thought knots my stomach.

But this is what accountability looks like—owning the rubble without begging the victims to help you sweep.

My phone buzzes after midnight. It’s a text from Sadie.

You still awake?

Always. What’s up?

Heard chatter: Marnie is petitioning for full custody. Lawyers, the whole nine.

You’re sure?

Saw the paperwork at a courthouse runner’s office. She’s serious, Pipes.

My thumb hovers. Marnie. The name sends an icy shiver—Jake’s ex, the mother who vanished, now apparently back to claim Violet.

“If she wins custody,” I whisper, “Jake could lose her. And I will lose them both without even being able to say goodbye.”

Jake know?

Blaze is telling him tonight. Whole family on code red.

Sadie adds a final line that makes my throat clog:

For what it’s worth, I’m glad you told the truth. Proud, actually.

I stare at the message, heart aching. Redemption arcs are weird.

***

Next morning, Maddie finds me on the sofa editing photos of a frost lit dawn. She flops beside me, handing over coffee.

“You look like you fought insomnia and lost.”

“Something like that.”

Maddie sips her own drink, eyeing me over the rim. “What were you doing up all night?”

“Mostly… thinking.” I set the mug down and shut my laptop. “Sadie told me something last night. About Marnie.”

That gets her attention. She straightens up, brows knitting. “What kind of something?”

I draw in a breath and let it out slow. “She said Marnie’s making a move to get full custody of Violet. Trying to get her out of Jake’s life entirely.”

Maddie goes very still. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah.” I nod, eyes burning from more than just the screen. “Apparently it’s real. And soon.”

Maddie’s jaw drops. “But Jake’s her dad. I mean, I know they’ve got a rocky history, but—what, she’s just gonna rip Violet away like that?”

“Sadie said she’s tried before, but this time it sounds like she’s serious.” I rub a hand over my face. “And if she does it now, after everything? It could work. Especially if she spins the story right.”

Maddie’s mouth thins into a tight line. “Does Jake know?”

I shake my head, stomach twisting. “Not from me. I figure his family will tell him, if they haven’t already.”

“But you know,” Maddie says slowly. “You know , and you’re not going to him?”

“I can’t.” My voice cracks a little, but I steel it. “Not after what I did. Not when the last message from me was a public confession about lying to his face. The last thing he needs is a ‘Hey, heard something life-ruining through the cousin grapevine—just thought I’d pop in!’ text from the girl who sold him out.”

Maddie doesn’t respond right away. Just sips her coffee, eyes thoughtful. “You’re doing the right thing,” she says eventually. “Letting him come to you, if he wants to. But… it still sucks.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “It sucks a lot.”

Maddie studies me. “But if you don’t tell him… you realize walking away now might mean never seeing Jake or Violet again.”

Emotion spears me right in the sternum. “I know.” My voice trembles. “But pushing myself back into Jake’s life to help would just look like guilt PR. This has to be his fight, on his terms. If he wants me involved, he’ll call.”

She exhales. “Integrity is exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, sipping coffee.

I hit publish on the first True Lens gallery—sunrise at Cedar Creek, dairy-tired wranglers, a candid of Emma wiping dust from her cheek. She’s laughing in the shot; it guts me and fuels me in equal measure.

Within an hour, a trickle of gentle comments appears. This is lovely. Feels real. Can we buy prints? Tiny embers of hope flicker.

Another notification pops up—Sadie again:

Your new site is gorgeous. FYI.

Thanks.

If you ever need local stories to shoot, let me know. (No sabotage this time, promise.)

I smile, blinking back unexpected tears.

I close my laptop, lean back, and let the quiet fill the apartment. The backlash is still roaring online; sponsors are still ghosting me; Emma is still silent; Jake’s future is suddenly a custody battlefield.

And yet, for the first time in forever, I feel… centered. I told the truth. I stopped the spinning plates. If consequences come, I’ll stand still and face them—camera in hand, story lens pointed at the honest, unfiltered world.

My phone buzzes again—unknown number. My pulse spikes, just in case it’s Jake.

It’s not. A random troll: Hope you’re happy. You ruined everything.

I stare at the message, breathe in, then delete it.

Standing alone with integrity? Hard. Lonely. Worth it.

I grab my camera and step out onto the porch, letting the crisp morning light spill across my lens.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Show me something real.”