He’d suggested she go to Alaska with him as if that was the answer to everything. It wasn’t, though. It was the wrong answer, and the surest way to kill her spirit. Without a job, without a purpose, Becca would just be a burden. She’d be dependent on Hank to show her how to do the smallest of things, because she wasn’t a camper and didn’t know the first thing about roughing it. Not that it was camping, of course, but it sounded awfully close.

Hank didn’t understand. If she gave up her business, gave up all pretense of working and being independent, she’d end up just like her mother—completely trapped in a miserable marriage. She’d be utterly controlled by Hank’s whims and unable to support herself. Her life would be the children alone and she’d have no identity outside of mother. And while that worked for a lot of people, Becca had seen how miserable it made her own mother and she was terrified of falling down the same path. Of having her husband decide what she should wear or how she should fix her hair, because he was the one paying the bills. She’d be at his mercy.

Hank was a good guy. A wonderful guy. Kind and caring. Loving to his daughter and to Becca. He was everything she’d ever dreamed of in a partner . . . except for this stubborn insistence on going back to Alaska.

Could he be happy here? With her? If not here, then some other city somewhere else? It wasn’t that she wasn’t willing to relocate—she’d go anywhere if they could be equal partners. She could start a new business somewhere else if that was what he wanted to do . . .

But his insistence on moving back to Alaska meant that what Becca wanted didn’t matter. That hurt so badly that she thought she’d die from the pain.

Little Alaska—god, she wished she’d never picked that name—whined and licked her face, squirming until Becca hugged her close and cuddled the puppy to her chest. “We’ll get through this, little baby. I promise. It’ll only hurt for about a year or two.” Her voice choked on the words. She snuggled the puppy for a bit, letting the soft fur and wiggly body distract her. Even if Hank had broken her heart, Alaska really was the best gift. Maybe she needed a new name, though. “How do you feel about Jennifer?” she asked, stroking the soft, floppy ears. “Do you feel like a Jenny?”

The puppy ignored her.

“Alaska?” she said tentatively.

The ears pricked and the tail thumped, her attention focused on Becca.