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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 after Montana's birth, Stella wasn't herself anymore. The glow that had once surrounded her—so effortless, so radiant—was dimmed. When she wasn't sleeping, she was crying. When she wasn't crying, she was staring at nothing, lost in her thoughts. That wasn't the Stella Johnny knew.

It didn't help that Montana seemed calmer in Johnny's arms than in her mother's. Stella couldn't shake the thought that her daughter preferred him—wanted him for comfort, wanted her only when it was time to feed or to be put to bed. It cut deep, twisting at the heart of a woman who had always carried herself with such Diana-like grace.

Lately, Stella had been missing her mother. Her post partum depression has taken over in the worst way possible, wrapping around  her like a storm she couldn't outrun. Janette, Abilene, and the girls had all tried to encourage her to seek help, but Stella refused. She was a southern woman, raised to hold her chin high and carry on, even when her world was crumbling.

But the cracks were showing. She and Johnny hadn't shared a proper meal in weeks. The exhaustion was catching up with both of them.

One evening, after finally settling Montana into her cradle, Stella tried to sound casual, though her voice carried a tremor.
"So... what do you think about having Daddy and Grandma Janette over for dinner tomorrow night? August went to see Sam, so he'll have to come when he gets back.

Johnny, who had been leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, looked at her carefully. His swagger never left him, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "Princess, you honestly think that's a good idea?"

Stella snapped her head toward him, her eyes flashing. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I actually enjoy spending time with my father and my grandmother."

Johnny straightened, his voice calm but firm, the way he always was when he knew one wrong word could make things worse. "I meant nothing by that, I just meant—"

"Oh, yeah, of course you didn't mean it," Stella cut him off, rolling her eyes with sharp sarcasm. Her voice cracked as her anger gave way to despair. "Why don't you take care of our daughter? She loves you more than me anyway."

The next day, while Johnny was working on the ranch with Clay and Nathan, Stella and Robby went to the local grocery store to pick up a few things she needed for a pot roast.

The fluorescent lights of the produce aisle felt a little too bright, but Stella pressed on. Montana fussed quietly in the stroller, and Stella rocked it gently with one hand as she eyed the displays. There was only one bag of yellow onions left. She reached for it—but just then, Montana whimpered louder, pulling her attention. She turned her back to soothe her daughter.

In those few seconds, another shopper swooped in, snatching the bag.

"Oh. Sorry, those were my onions," Stella said, her voice polite but strained.

"I'm sorry?" the woman replied, her tone sharp, defensive.

"Those were my onions. You just took them from me." Stella pointed at the bag.

"No, I got them from the display right here," the woman said, hugging the cart handle possessively.

"Yeah, I under..." Stella started. The woman was about to leave, but Stella grabbed her shopping cart to stop her.

"Excuse me, where are you going, lady?! Stella asked raising her voice. "Those were my onions, and you took them from me. I want them back, so give them back to me!"

"Is there a problem here?" the grocer asked, walking up to Stella

"Yeah, I... Yes. Okay, there is a problem. I went to grab that bag of onions, I turn my back for two seconds to tend to my baby, and that woman took them from me." Stella said

"Ma'am, just calm down." The grocer said

"I-I'm calm, okay? I'm not gonna calm down though, because what I want is for you to tell her to give me my onions back, okay? I have a recipe that calls for four ounces of yellow onion. And-and I have been planning this dish for a whole week, and I'm not gonna leave here without my yellow onion." Stella said on the verge of tears.

"Miss, would you like to sit down?" The grocer asked

"No! I don't, I don't..." Stella said, as she raised her voice, then she calmed down. "I don't want to sit down. I want you to tell her to give me my onion back. I just, I want...I want what I came for, okay? I want my yellow onion. I want what's fair. Will you, will you, will you tell her to give me my onion back?"

The grocer didn't know what to do. It was just a bag of onions, why was a customer getting so upset over a bag of onions? There was no rhyme or reason.

"Because it's not fair that I have to sit here and go without my yellow onion. It's not fair. It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair!" Stella wept.

Robby, hearing the commotion, walked over to the produce aisle from the bakery with a look of concern on his face. He knew his stepmother hadn't been herself.

Placing the blueberry pie in the shopping cart, he got down on his knees beside his stepmother and wrapped his arms around her. "It's okay mom. I've got you. It's gonna be okay." Robby said

Back home, Stella and Robby walked in the door. He carried in the groceries, while she carried a sleeping Montana upstairs to the nursery.

Once Montana was in her cradle, Stella walked to the kitchen to prepare the pot roast, when Janette arrived. As Stella seasoned the roast, Janette cut up the veggies.

"Since I don't have onions, you think I could use onion powder?" Stella nonchalantly asked

"Yes, that or minced onion will work just fine honey." Janette said

In the living room, Johnny opened the front door as Nathan followed suit.

"Hey, dad, I need to talk to you about something. You too grandpa." Robby said.

"Sure." Nathan said as they walked into Johnny and Stella's bedroom.

"What's going on?" Johnny asked, dropping onto the edge of the bed. Nathan sat beside him, steady but braced, already sensing something heavy.

"Mom had a meltdown in the grocery store today," Robby said.

"What?" Johnny's tone cracked with concern.

"A meltdown? What do you mean?" Nathan asked, though his gut already knew. He dreaded the answer.

"I mean—we were shopping for the dinner tonight, and some lady came up, grabbed the last bag of yellow onions, and Mom just... flipped out. It's not like her at all. I didn't even suggest another store, because I knew she's not herself. And—I just want her back, you guys. I want my mom back."

Johnny didn't hesitate. He pulled his son into his arms, the swagger slipping just enough to show the fierce father underneath. "I know."

"Let me talk to her," Nathan said quietly, his voice carrying that unshakable steadiness.

In the kitchen, Stella slid the pot roast into the oven. Janette fixed herself a glass of iced tea and wandered off, just as Nathan came in. He pressed a kiss to his daughter's temple before pouring his own drink.

"You okay, honey?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine, Daddy."

"Look, I'm not going to make you talk about it. But when you're ready, you know where I'll be."

"Mmm-hmm." Her hum was hollow.

Later, Nathan sat heavily in the living room, head buried in his hands. "I'm so worried about her. This is killing my soul."

"I know, honey," Janette said softly.

"I'm just as worried about her," Johnny admitted, sitting with Robby. His swagger had dimmed, leaving only raw worry. "I'm at a loss on what to do."

Back in the kitchen, Stella's world had shrunk to static. She didn't hear her family talking. She didn't notice she'd set the oven too high. She burnt the pot roast.

Not expecting her daughter to wake up so soon, she dropped a plate on the floor, when Montana wailed. It was a gift from a patient she had when she was in clinicals. She loved that plate, and now it's broken.

Her baby is crying, she misses her beloved mother more than words can describe, she broke a plate, and now she's angry. Life is great. Johnny, Robby, Nathan, and Janette, came into the kitchen, to find Stella staring at the plate, a blank expression on her face.

"What happened?" Janette asked

"The plate broke," Stella whispered, voice trembling. "My baby's crying. I need to tend to her. I'll clean it when I get back."

"Let me help—" Johnny started.

"John, please!" she snapped, raw and sharp. "Let me handle it. For fuck's sake, I'm not an invalid."

Later, after Montana was fed and soothed, Stella returned to find Janette sweeping up the fragments. The pot roast burned, smoke faint in the air. Stella's eyes went to the plate. Shattered. Irretrievable.

"It's broken," she whispered, tears spilling.

"Stella..." Nathan's voice reached out.

"Stop it! Everyone stop it!" she cried, voice cracking as tears spilled down her face. "I heard you. I heard everything. You're all talking about me behind my back—like I'm some fragile little glass doll who's losing it!"

The room froze.

"If you're gonna talk about me, at least have the decency to say it to my face!" she choked, glaring at each of them before her voice collapsed into a whisper. "I'm sorry..."

Her expression crumpled into something near terror—horrified by the words that had just flown from her mouth. She looked at her father with pleading eyes, then quickly backed away, unable to bear the weight of their love or concern.

"I didn't mean to—I can't—"

And with that, she turned and ran from the room. Her family called out to her, voices layered with fear and love, but she didn't stop.

Johnny raked a hand over his face, torn between anger and heartbreak. "What is going on with her? I just don't understand. One minute she's fine, and the next she wants to rip my head off."

Janette, who had seen this coming, pulled out a chair and gestured for him to sit, then placed her hands gently over her his, and  looked him square in the eye. "Johnny, honey—Stella has postpartum depression."

Johnny blinked, stunned. "What?" His voice cracked. "I... I thought maybe she was just overwhelmed, or exhausted. I had no idea it was that bad."

Janette gave him a sad, knowing smile. "A few weeks ago, we talked to her about it. Told her she should speak to Dr. Montgomery. She told us she would... but clearly, she didn't."

"Why didn't she say anything?" Robby asked

Nathan sat down across from them. "She thought she could handle it. That it would pass. But it hasn't. And now, it's getting worse."

Johnny leaned forward, face buried in his hands. "But why wouldn't she just tell me? Why wouldn't she accept help?"

Janette wrapped a motherly arm around his shoulder. "Because your wife is stubborn," she said lovingly. "She's also terrified of not being the mother she thinks she's supposed to be. She doesn't want you to see her as weak. Honey, this isn't about you. None of what she's said or done has anything to do with how much she loves you or Robby and Montana. It's the postpartum talking. You've got to be patient. Compassionate. She needs you now more than ever."

Johnny exhaled shakily and stood. "I have to find her."

"Then ask yourself this: where does she go when she's really hurting? When she needs comfort?" Janette asked

"Ava's old room." Johnny said

Robby gave a knowing nod. "Go bring her home, dad. I've got Montana."

Landon gave them all a grateful glance, already reaching for his keys.

Nathan looked up at him, voice soft. "Bring my little girl back, Johnny. And this time, we'll get her the help she needs."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Johnny pulled into the driveway of Abilene's ranch home and quietly used the spare key to let himself in. He was mentally preparing himself for what he could walk into. As he stepped through the quiet house, the only sound he heard was the faint sobbing of the woman he loved more than anything.

He followed the faint sound of crying up the stairs, down the hall, until it led him to Ava's old room. The closer he got, the clearer it became—quiet, broken sobs.

Johnny stepped into the doorway, and his chest caved.

There was Stella—his beautiful Stella—lying on her side, facing the window, her back to him. In her arms, clutched tight against her chest, was the framed photo of Ava, the one she carried like a lifeline. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, and her shoulders trembled with each breath.

Johnny couldn't stand it. Swagger forgotten, he crossed the room in two strides and stretched out beside her, wrapping himself around her body like he was afraid she might slip away. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, gentle in a way only Stella ever saw.

"How did you find me?" Stella asked, voice broken, still clutching the photo.

"When you love someone, you always find them," Johnny said softly, threading his fingers through hers. "Don't you know? I'll always find you. Stella, I need to know what's going on. Talk to me. You don't even have to look at me—just stare at the ceiling if you want—but at least talk to me."

With trembling hands, Stella set Ava's photo on the nightstand. She rolled onto her back, her eyes vacant as they searched the ceiling.

"John, I know I have postpartum depression. I'm unhappy with myself. When I'm not sleeping, I'm crying. Our daughter loves you more than she loves me, which... I'm not complaining, but it does sting."

Johnny grabbed her hand and squeezed. "She doesn't love me more than you. You don't see it, but Montana absolutely adores you, Stella."

She shook her head. "No, you don't get it. Montana loves you more than me. All she wants me for is feeding time and bedtime. The rest of the time, she wants you. Which again—I'm not complaining, but it does sting."

"Tell me why you're unhappy," Johnny pressed. His voice was firm, desperate. "I wanna know so I can help you."

Her lip trembled. "You don't get it, because you're not a woman. You call me beautiful, but I'm not. I'm as fat and ugly as they come."

Johnny's gut twisted. He reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek.

"Johnny, I used to have perky boobs—but now, they're only somewhat perky, and they leak. It's awful. I have stretch marks. I have this fat here..." She pointed to her hips and middle. "...and stretch marks there." Her hand dropped to her lower stomach. "I've been doing my Jane Fonda every day, and I thought I'd see results by now."

"Stella—"

"What's worse, my dresses are tight. They used to fit me like a glove. Remember? I was a size 2, and now I'm a size 6." Her voice cracked.

Johnny's grip on her hand tightened. "Stella, I know you don't believe me, but you're beautiful. Drop-dead gorgeous. You always have been. Is that why you haven't wanted to... you know?"

She nodded. "Have sex? Yeah. I didn't want you to see me this way. You'd be repulsed. It's bad enough I have to see it. I'm repulsed by the sight."

Johnny shifted, turning her toward him, his green eyes locked on hers.

"Princess, don't you ever say that." His voice was low, fierce, his swagger now wrapped in truth. "You're the most beautiful damn woman I've ever laid eyes on—inside and out. You gave me our daughter. You gave me a family. You could be in sweats and messy hair for the rest of your life and I'd still think you're a knockout." His voice cracked, just enough to show how much it cost him to hear her tear herself down. "Don't you see it? You're everything. You are more than a size. You're my wife. My true love. The best friend I've ever had. And I promise you, baby—we're gonna get through this together. Our love is stronger than PPD."

Stella broke, crumbling against him, sobbing into his neck. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I snapped at you, baby. I love you so much. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Please forgive me."

Johnny held her like he was never letting go, his lips against her hair. "You never hurt me, Stella. I love you more than you'll ever know. Tomorrow, we're going to see your doctor. We're doing this together."

He helped her up carefully, keeping her hand locked in his, and the two of them left Ava's old room side by side. This time, Johnny drove them home in his caravan, Stella tucked safely against him, leaving the Chevy behind.

Once they got home, they were greeted by Janette, Nathan, and Robby. Janette had just finished changing Montana and settling her back to sleep.

"I'm really sorry, you guys," Stella said, tears springing to her eyes as she set her bag down. "About snapping like that. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt—"

"We know, honey. We know," Janette soothed, pulling her granddaughter into a gentle embrace.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Nathan added, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Stella the moment Janette released her. His hold was strong, steady, the kind that said he wasn't letting go until she believed she wasn't alone.

Janette stepped back, giving them space. Nathan kept his daughter close, his hand smoothing over her hair as she cried into his chest. "I'm so worried about you, honey," he murmured, his voice firm but breaking at the edges. "Please—go see someone. Get help for this. If not for me, or your mama, then do it for your daughter."

"I'm going to, Daddy," Stella whispered through her tears, clutching him tighter.

Nathan kissed the top of her head, his voice thick. "Good. And listen to me—you are not weak for needing help. You're strong, Stella. Stronger than you know. But strength doesn't mean going through this alone. Real strength is knowing when to reach out, and I'm proud of you for doing it."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

About two weeks later, the medicine began to take full effect. Stella noticed her sleep returning to normal. The heavy fog started to lift, her laughter came more easily, her body felt like hers again, and she and her baby girl were bonding more.

And with Johnny—the spark was stronger than ever. Their intimacy had come roaring back, not just in soft moments of closeness but in passion, in hunger, in the way they reached for each other like they'd been starved. Stella had even started wearing shorter Miss Elaine nightgowns, and it drove Johnny absolutely insane.

More than once, with that crooked smirk and that rough-edged swagger only she ever got to see, Johnny pulled her close and murmured against her skin, "Princess, I'm not complaining. Not one damn bit."

Later one night, Johnny lay awake with Stella curled against him, her breath warm on his chest, her silk nightgown riding high on her thighs. He stared at her in the moonlight, unable to look away. She thought she was scarred, stretched, changed. But to him, she was perfect. Every curve, every mark, every part of her body told the story of their love and the life they'd created together.

Damn, Princess, he thought, brushing a kiss across her hairline, you'll never know how beautiful you are. You gave me a daughter, you gave me a family—and you're still the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on.

He tightened his hold on her, whispering softly so only she could hear. "You're it for me, Stella. Always have been. Always will be."

And with her tucked safely in his arms, Johnny finally closed his eyes, knowing he had everything he'd ever wanted—right there beside him.