How many of us grew up crushing on the bad boy? I did. Through my teen years, I gravitated toward jerks—boys who objectified me, pushed boundaries, and treated me like a challenge instead of a person. I even spent years hopelessly in love with a stoner who dropped out of school to pursue a career in… being a pothead. Meanwhile, when I met my husband—a genuinely kind, respectful man—I instantly friend‑zoned him. He couldn’t possibly be my missing piece, right?

August was… a lot. The kind of month that makes you laugh, cry, and question your life choices all in the same afternoon.

There’s a moment in Last of the Mohicans that has lived inside me for decades. The younger daughter stands on the edge of a cliff, the music rising like a heartbeat. She looks at the man who intends to take her. His hand outstretched. Then back at the chasm behind her. She hesitates. She chooses. She jumps. That scene carved itself into me. That breath‑held, soul‑splitting moment is my benchmark for a great story.