I’m 24. For the past year, my life has felt like a broken record, stuck on the same sad track. Living in my mom’s small South Carolina house, rent-free, felt like a concession, not a home. And him, my fiancé, 26, he was right there with me, or at least physically. His spirit was… somewhere else. He struggled. Really struggled to keep a job. It wasn’t about lack of trying, not exactly, but about not being able to wake up on time, about commitments slipping through his fingers like sand. We talked about our future, endlessly. Hollow words often, filled with more hope than action. Then, a few weeks ago, something shifted. He’d been talking to my mom, the one who lives in rural Alaska, surrounded by mountains and silence. He opened up to her, he said, about us, about how desperately he wanted to build a life with me, but how lost he felt financially. And she, my mom, she offered us a lifeline. A miracle.
Come live with her. Get on our feet. Work for a few years in a place where wages are good, she said, where the isolation offsets the expenses. When he brought it up to me, I was stunned. Alaska? My mom? But then, the excitement bloomed. A fresh start. Away from everything that held us back here. A chance to finally build our own home, our own life. It felt like destiny.
We made plans. Grand plans. We’d save every penny. We’d come back strong. The packing was exhilarating, a shedding of the old, broken us. Saying goodbye to the humid air of South Carolina felt like breaking free. The flight was long, filled with his quiet optimism and my bubbling anticipation. He was so attentive, so full of promises. This is it, I thought. Our new beginning.
Alaska. The air hit me first, sharp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and something wild. My mom’s place was even more remote than I’d imagined. A small cabin, nestled deep in the woods. No neighbors for miles. It was beautiful, yes, but also… lonely. My mom was different here. More self-sufficient, harder. But she welcomed us, hugged us tight.
He started ‘work’ almost immediately. A local guiding operation, my mom helped him secure. He was up early every morning, energetic, focused. The man who couldn’t wake up on time in South Carolina was gone. He seemed to thrive in this stark environment. I looked for my own work, helped my mom around the cabin, adapted to the quiet rhythm of the wilderness. But sometimes, I’d catch them. My mom and him. Whispering. Too close, too often. Sharing glances that felt… private. It’s nothing, I’d tell myself. They’re bonding. He needs her guidance.
One evening, my mom went into town for supplies, leaving us alone for the first time in weeks. I was in the small living room, reading. He was in the kitchen, on the phone, his voice low. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Not really. But then I heard him laugh. A deep, comfortable laugh. And a name. Not mine. He mentioned “the plan.” He mentioned “her.” My blood went cold. My heart hammered. What plan? Who is ‘her’?
I crept closer, my breath catching in my throat. He was still talking, still laughing. And then I heard it. Clear as the Alaskan air. A phrase that ripped through my soul, colder than any winter wind. “Yeah, she’s taking care of her end, just like we agreed. It’ll all be ours soon. Just you and me, baby. And our little place up here.” I froze. My stomach dropped. Baby? Our place? My eyes scanned the room, landed on a photo on the mantelpiece. My mom, smiling, her arm around him. Not a motherly hug. It was an embrace. And then I understood. The whispers. The glances. The sudden enthusiasm for Alaska. The plan. MY MOM. AND MY FIANCÉ. THEY WERE DOING THIS TOGETHER. WITHOUT ME. AGAINST ME.
The air left my lungs. MY WHOLE LIFE WAS A LIE. HE WAS NEVER GOING TO BUILD A LIFE WITH ME. HE WAS BUILDING A LIFE WITH HER. MY OWN MOTHER. And I was just the convenient bridge, the unwitting tool. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But where? We were in the middle of NOWHERE. I WAS TRAPPED. WITH THEM.
