Ours.
The first cabin went up with that money. Then two more. Then a reception barn. Then a little line of luxury glamping tents during the years when everybody wanted rustic until rustic cost more than downtown hotels.
From the road it looked like his dream getting bigger.
From inside it, it was mostly my labor holding the seams together.
I handled the online booking systems because he hated sitting still. I negotiated with florists, caterers, feed suppliers, and a plumber named Ronnie who never answered his phone but always showed up eventually smelling like cigarettes and copper pipe. I cleaned guest rooms when the housekeepers got sick. I set out muffins at dawn for trail riders who wanted “authentic Texas” as long as the coffee was hot and the bathrooms were spotless.
When employees quit, I covered.
When bank payments were tight, I covered.
When the summer storms flooded the lower trail and we had to move a wedding party inside with four hours’ notice, I covered that too.
There is a kind of marriage where one person becomes the hidden staff of the other person’s reputation.
That was mine.
