Hearts on Broadway (Book 2)

Chapter 10 - Finding Solace in Gatlinburg

The narrow road that wound through Gatlinburg felt as familiar as ever, but today, it weighed heavy on Georgie's heart. The thick trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting long shadows over the asphalt as the sun began its slow descent behind the mountains. The crisp air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, stirring memories of a simpler time—back when her only concern was which song to learn next or how to help her dad with the horses.

But this wasn't the same Georgie who had left Gatlinburg with stars in her eyes, chasing dreams in Nashville. The woman driving now was weighed down by a heart full of doubt and a mind clouded with guilt. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white as the road stretched out ahead of her.

She didn't head straight home. She couldn't—not yet. Instead, she found herself steering the car toward the cemetery on the outskirts of town. Her father's resting place.

As she pulled up to the small, familiar graveyard, a lump formed in her throat. She wasn't ready for this, but something deep inside urged her forward, drawing her toward the one person who had always made her feel like she was enough. Hank Day, her father.

Georgie stepped out of the car, the wind brushing her cheek as she walked down the gravel path. Her feet felt heavy, each step harder than the last as she approached the headstone with her father's name etched into the cool, gray marble.

"Hank Day. Beloved Husband and Father."

She knelt beside the grave, her fingers tracing the familiar letters on the stone. It was well-worn now, but still strong, just like her father had been.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "I'm so sorry."

The tears came before she could stop them, sliding down her cheeks as she sat back on the ground, pulling her knees to her chest. She had thought she'd be stronger when she got here, but seeing her father's name carved into the earth made it all too real. He was gone, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," Georgie said, her voice trembling. "But I've failed, Dad. I've failed at everything. I thought I could be a good mom, a good wife, but I'm not. I'm not good at any of it."

Her sobs broke the quiet stillness of the cemetery, echoing around her as she buried her face in her hands. She felt so small, so lost. She had always turned to her father for advice, for comfort. He had a way of making everything seem simpler, like no problem was too big to handle. But now she was drowning, and he wasn't here to pull her out.

Georgie raised her head, staring at the headstone through tear-filled eyes. "I don't know what to do, Dad," she whispered. "I'm not strong enough for this. I thought I could be, but I'm not. I've let Morgan down. I've let Jackson down. And I've let you down, too."

She sat there for what felt like hours, the weight of her grief pressing down on her until she could barely breathe. She wanted to hear his voice, to hear him tell her that everything was going to be okay. But all she heard was the wind rustling through the trees.

Her heart told her to go back. Go back to Morgan, back to Jackson, and try to make things right. It told her that she was enough, that she could still be the mother and wife they needed. But her mind... her mind wouldn't let her believe it.

Her head kept replaying the moments where she had fallen short, where she had crumbled under the pressure. The times when she couldn't comfort Jackson, when she snapped at Morgan, when she couldn't even get out of bed. Her head told her that she wasn't good enough—that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be enough.

"I don't know if I can go back," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I don't know if I can face them. What if I'm never good enough? What if I keep hurting them?"

Georgie's sobs quieted, leaving her in the empty silence of her own thoughts. She closed her eyes, her fingers still resting on her father's name, searching for comfort in the cold stone.

Georgie wasn't sure how long she sat there, lost in her grief, but the soft sound of footsteps approaching pulled her from her thoughts. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Georgie?"

Her mother's voice was soft, filled with a mixture of concern and love. Joan knelt down beside her daughter, her eyes scanning the tear-streaked face that had always been so full of light. But today, Georgie's face was shadowed with pain and guilt, and it broke Joan's heart.

"I didn't know you were back," Joan said gently, her voice thick with emotion. "Morgan called me, honey. He's worried about you."

Georgie flinched at the mention of Morgan's name, the guilt twisting deeper inside her. She couldn't bring herself to look at her mother. She couldn't face the disappointment she was sure was written all over Joan's face.

"I didn't know where else to go," Georgie said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to come home like this."

Joan sat quietly for a moment, her eyes filled with understanding. She reached over and took Georgie's hand, squeezing it tightly. "You're not a disappointment, Georgie. You're not."

Georgie shook her head, the tears welling up again. "I feel like I've failed, Mom. I've failed everyone. Morgan, Jackson... even Dad. I can't do it anymore."

Joan's heart ached as she watched her daughter unravel in front of her. "Oh, honey," she whispered, pulling Georgie into her arms. "You haven't failed anyone. You're going through something so hard, and it's okay to feel like this. It's okay to be lost for a while."

Georgie sobbed into her mother's shoulder, her body shaking with the weight of everything she had been carrying alone. "I didn't want to let anyone down," she choked out. "I thought I could handle it. I thought I was strong enough. But I'm not. I'm not strong like you or Dad."

Joan pulled back slightly, cupping Georgie's tear-streaked face in her hands. "You are strong, Georgie. So strong. But being strong doesn't mean you have to carry everything on your own. It doesn't mean you can't ask for help."

"I didn't want to burden anyone," Georgie whispered, her voice raw. "Not you, not Morgan. I didn't want anyone to see me like this."

Joan's heart ached at the pain in her daughter's voice. "You're not a burden, sweetheart. You've never been a burden. And you don't have to hide your pain from us. We love you, Georgie. Morgan loves you. Jackson loves you. You're not a failure, and you're not alone."

Georgie shook her head, her tears falling harder. "I don't know how to go back," she whispered. "I don't know how to be enough for them."

Joan looked at her daughter, her eyes filled with both love and sadness. "You are enough, Georgie. You've always been enough. You just need time to heal. And that's okay. It's okay to take that time."

Georgie looked down at the ground, her heart heavy with guilt. "But what if I never heal? What if I never get better?"

Joan squeezed her hand again, her voice soft but steady. "You will. Healing doesn't happen overnight, and it's not a straight path. But you're strong, and you have people who love you. You're not in this alone."

They sat in silence for a long while, the quiet settling over them like a blanket. Joan's words slowly began to seep into Georgie's heart, offering a small glimmer of hope. She didn't know if she was ready to go back—her head still told her that she wasn't enough, that she would never be enough. But her heart... her heart told her that maybe, just maybe, she could find her way back.

Joan stood up slowly, brushing the dirt from her knees. "Come home, Georgie. Come home with me for tonight. You don't have to decide anything right now. Just rest. We'll figure out the next steps together."

Georgie hesitated, her gaze lingering on her father's headstone. She still felt the weight of her grief, of her guilt, but Joan's presence had offered her a small lifeline—a reminder that she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

She nodded, wiping the tears from her face. "Okay."

Joan wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders as they walked back toward the car. It wasn't much, but it was a step. And for now, that was enough.