Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,2

it is in his last statement where he truly kicks me while I’m down.

With the injuries sustained during her fall, it is unlikely London Daniels will return to ride professionally at any capacity, but I suppose the real question is: Would the equestrian industry as a whole want the fallen favorite, even if she could?

Two Weeks Later

Willow Bay, Alberta

I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME my heart was broken. I was ten. Tommy Pruitt had just given his Valentine’s Day card to Heather Boston, and I was crushed. Completely and utterly devastated. That afternoon, after barreling into the barn when I got home from school, a mess of tears and wracked by confusion, I dramatically flopped down into the sawdust of the stall Momma was cleaning.

After leaning her pitchfork against the wall, she slowly sits her lean frame beside me and pulls me into her lap. “Hush now, my sweet girl. What’s wrong?” she coos, sweeping my blond hair off my face.

I babble out the gut-wrenching story in waterfall fashion, the rejection stinging my young heart.

Pressing her lips to my forehead, she curls them into a smile before she speaks. “When life feels as if it’s become too difficult and our momentum threatens to break stride, remember, London—hope is not lost. We are strong women, we are horse women, and when push comes to shove, sweet girl, we can always change rein, for a new direction never ceases to bring with it a new light.”

“He was my soulmate,” I wail into the crook of her neck. “What if no one ever loves me again?”

Cupping my wet cheeks with her frail hands, she lifts my face to meet her gaze. “I think there are people out there for all of us. Not necessarily one perfect person, but a multitude of individuals who shape us into who we are. Then, hopefully, when we’ve twisted and turned, gathered some scars of our own, fate sends us the person to fade our scars and shine light into the dark parts of who we are. When they come? I’m not sure. Some get them sooner than later. Others get more than one. But I do believe we all find that at least once in our lives, and at that point, fate’s job is done. It’s on us to keep them.”

“I’ll love someone again?” I urge.

Tugging playfully on the ends of my hair, she smiles. “You’ll love so many things in life, London.” Tears pool in her eyes. “So very many things. But our hearts have to break a little sometimes. How else would we make room for all of that love?”

Satisfied with her answer, although not quiet understanding the depth of it all, I push to my feet and kiss the top of her head. “I love you, Momma.”

“Love you too, sweet girl.”

She was right. I grew to love a multitude of things in the sixteen years since that day, and occasionally, my heart breaks from loving or wanting some of them a little too much. But I don’t regret the passion or the fire that caused me to be this girl, the girl who has the kind of heart that breaks. Because it was just like her, just like Momma, to love so much that she’d sacrifice herself for others, time and time again.

I run my fingers over the letters in stone.

Abigale L. Daniels

I lay the flowers against the green grass. “Love you, Momma.”

Looking over my shoulder, I see Chil eyeing me between the panels of his horse trailer.

“I know, big guy,” I whisper under my breath.

It is time to go home with, once again, another break in my heart.

Standing up, I brush the grass off my knees and glance down at the tombstone one last time before turning back towards the road.

It’s been almost ten years since my mother passed away from pancreatic cancer. She had a long and brutal battle with the disease, but in the end, we were able to hold her hand during her final moments on this Earth. Which was, indeed, both a blessing and a curse. I’d not wish that experience on even my worst enemy.

Stepping up on the wheel wells of the trailer, I reach one of my slender arms between the panels and give Achilles a rub on his nose. “Let’s go home,” I whisper, resting my forehead on the cool metal.

He acknowledges my voice, impatiently stomping his front right foot and shaking his large neck in agreement. Achilles is a four-year-old, dapple-grey Dutch Warmblood. In plain speak?