Chapter 148: Running Your Own Race

Harper’s POV

I found Mom downstairs in the kitchen, sitting at the dining table with a steaming mug of tea held between her hands. The quiet hum of the house felt heavy, almost fragile, as I walked in.

"Mom?"

She looked up, her gaze warm and instantly perceptive. "Yes, sweetheart?"

I pulled out the wooden chair beside her and sat down, scraping it softly against the floor.

"There’s something I want to ask you."

She set her teacup down on the coaster, turning her full attention toward me. "What is it?"

I took a slow breath, trying to steady the quiet flutter in my chest. "Remember how I told you about that documentary idea I had?"

Mom nodded slowly. "I remember."

"I want to do it." I offered a small, nervous smile. "The one about you."

Her eyebrows lifted in gentle surprise. "About me?"

"Yes." I leaned in, my hands resting on the cool wood. "But only if you’re completely comfortable with it. I don’t want you to feel pressured or put on the spot. And I’m more than willing to pay you an appearance fee for your time—"

"Harper, stop," Mom interrupted, shaking her head. "You don’t have to pay me."

"I know, but—"

"Let me finish."

An intimate moment between mother and daughter. Source: Oliver Rossi / Getty Images

She reached across the table, covering my hands with her own. Her skin was warm, familiar, and grounded.

"I understand what you’re trying to do, Harper. You’re not just making a random video. You want to practice your craft, you want to build something meaningful, and you don’t want to sit around feeling idle while waiting for your internship to start."

Relief flooded through me so fast my shoulders dropped. "Exactly."

She smiled softly. "I’ll help you."

"Really?"

"Of course I will."

I squeezed her hand tightly. "Thank you."

"But..."

The word hung in the air. The smile faded from Mom’s face, replaced by a quiet, piercing intensity.

"There is something I need to understand first."

"What?"

"This thing you keep coming back to—about not wanting to stay idle, about needing to keep up."

I lowered my eyes, staring at our joined hands. "Mom..."

"No," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room to hide. "Talk to me."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "I just... I don’t want to feel like I’m falling behind."

"Falling behind who, Harper?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, but she already knew.

"Justin?" she asked gently.

I let out a long breath. "Yes."

Mom leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving my face. "Tell me what’s really going on in that head of yours."

I rubbed my thumb against her knuckles. "I know he’s going to make it. I don’t just think so—I’m entirely certain. He’s ridiculously talented. He was drafted first overall, for God’s sake. Everyone already knows what he’s capable of. He’s going to be an NHL star, Mom. It’s happening right now."

"I know."

"And when that happens..." My voice cracked slightly, the raw vulnerability surfacing before I could stop it.

"What happens then?"

"I don’t want to just be the girlfriend hanging around his arm," I confessed, the confession burning my throat. "I don’t want people looking at me and assuming I’m only in these rooms because of him. Like he’s out there building this legendary career while I’m just..." I gestured vaguely into the air. "Just here."

"Just here?"

"A film intern." The title felt small, almost insignificant when weighed against the grand stage of professional sports. "I know being an intern isn’t bad. I worked hard for it! But what if everyone sees him moving forward at lightning speed and sees me as the girlfriend tagging along for the ride? What if my entire identity gets swallowed up by his success?"

Mom was quiet for a long moment. Then, her voice soft and measured, she asked, "Has Justin ever made you feel that way?"

I snapped my gaze up, shaking my head instantly. "No. Never."

"Has he ever made you feel like you’re less than him?"

"No."

"Has he ever treated your dreams like they were secondary?"

"No."

"Has he ever told you that you aren’t doing enough?"

"No!"

"Then where is this fear coming from, Harper?"

I stared at the wood grain of the table, feeling stripped bare. "I don’t know."

Mom gave my hand a firm squeeze. "Harper. Look at me."

I forced my eyes up to meet hers.

"You’re having a moment of insecurity."

I blinked back the heat behind my eyelids. "Maybe."

"No. Not maybe." A soft, compassionate smile touched her lips. "You are. And that’s human."

A shaky laugh escaped my chest, though my eyes were stinging.

"You’re looking at Justin and seeing everything unfolding for him—the draft, development camp, the contract, the spotlight," Mom said gently. "You’re watching his future move at a thousand miles an hour, and you’re measuring your own timeline against his."

I nodded slowly, tears blurring my vision.

"And yes," she continued, "his life is going to move very fast from here. He might become a household name sooner than you expect."

I looked down again, letting her words sink in.

"But that does not mean you are standing still."

I stayed silent, my throat tight.

"Harper, everyone runs their own race." Mom’s voice took on an unyielding firmness. "Justin has his pace. You have yours. His race is sprinted on an arena floor under stadium lights right now. That is his path. It does not mean you are losing yours."

A tear spilled over, hot against my cheek.

"You’re building a career too," she said, her voice rich with pride. "You’re honing a craft. You’re learning. You earned a prestigious internship. You have people in this industry who genuinely believe in your voice. You have a professor opening doors for you, and a legendary producer who wants your mind on her project."

I sniffed, wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve.

"And you have your own stories to tell," she added, glancing toward my planning journal on the counter. "You’re already writing, planning, and creating instead of waiting by the phone. Don’t you ever—for the love of God—allow someone else’s speed to make you feel like you aren’t moving forward."

I laughed through a surge of tears. "Okay."

"I mean it, Harper."

"I know, Mom."

"You don’t need to become an NHL superstar just because you’re dating one. You don’t need to have your entire legacy mapped out today just because his career is launching." She leaned across the table, catching my gaze. "You aren’t running the same race, sweetheart."

I nodded, the knot in my chest finally beginning to unravel.

"His path is his. Yours is yours. And if your path requires time to grow, then let it take time. Take your time. Master your craft. Make mistakes. Edit, reimagine, create, and evolve." She smiled brightly. "You don’t have to prove that you’re worthy of standing beside Justin. You already are."

That was the dam breaking.

I leaned forward, dropping my head against her shoulder as tears fell freely. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a warm, protective embrace, resting her chin on my head while her hand rubbed soothing circles into my back.

I let myself cry—releasing the silent pressure I had been putting on my own shoulders, the terrifying fear of losing myself in someone else’s shadow, and the exhaustion of trying to match a pace that wasn’t mine to run.

"You’re going to be brilliant," Mom whispered softly into my hair. "You already are."

I nodded against her shoulder, pulling back after a moment and wiping my cheeks with both hands. "Okay."

She pulled away, her eyes bright with affectionate mischief. "So..."

I blinked, clearing my throat. "What?"

"When do we start shooting?" she asked, a laugh bubbling up. "I need to know if I should do my hair."

I stared at her for a second before a genuine, radiating smile broke across my face. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?!"

"Yes!"

Mom shook her head, laughing out loud. "You really are my daughter."

I laughed with her, the air in the kitchen suddenly feeling lighter, clearer, and full of energy. For the first time all day, I wasn’t anxious about the future. I couldn’t wait to press record.