The Heart of the Texan Alpha

　　KAT

　　"Dad, I am home," I yell as I open the front door to our small apartment in upstate New York.

　　My voice doesn't echo like it used to in the old house. We used to live in a huge house, but with all of Mom's medical debt and it just being Dad and I, we decided to downgrade. I am sure Dad thinks I miss our grand house and all the crap that was in it, but I don't. The two-bedroom apartment is cozy. Plus, I can see the Adirondack Mountain Range from our back windows. Nothing says home to me like the mountains. I never want to leave this place.

　　When I don't hear a response from Dad, I make my way down the short hallway into the kitchen. My father isn't there or in his office. That's when I see it. A yellow sticky note on the counter.

　　"Went to the hospital. Be back before dinner. Love, Dad."

　　I let out a sigh. Of course, he isn't here. Why would he be? He is rarely home, always at work or at the hospital with Mom.

　　Setting the mail down on the counter beside the sticky note, I begin digging through the fridge. I guess I will be making dinner once again. I pull out some chicken and set to work on making dinner.

　　"Alexa. Play songs I like," I call out to our Alexa, and music starts to blare through the speakers in the apartment. I am dancing around the kitchen while I mix the batter for the chicken in a bowl. I spin around too quickly and almost fall.

　　"I am out of practice," I laugh to no one.

　　I set the bowl down and a thick letter on the counter catches my attention.

　　Wiping my hands free from the batter, I pull the letter out of the stack with shaky hands. My hands freeze when I see that it is a letter from Juilliard. My breath gets caught in my throat, and I have to sit down to steady myself.

　　I had applied so long ago that I automatically assumed that I hadn't gotten in. But the thick envelope in my hands is telling me that I was wrong. Why would they send so much information for a rejection letter?

　　I carefully rip the back of the envelope open and pull out the letter. I turn it over in my hands before I unfold it to read its contents.

　　"Dear Katerine Tower, It is with great pleasure that we would like to extend to your acceptance to Juilliard School of Dance…"

　　I don't bother to read the rest of the letter. The first sentence is all I need to squeal as loudly as I can. I clutch the letter to my chest and jump up and down. I have worked so hard to get to this point. I have given up weekends, school events, football games, parties, everything. I have never worked so hard for anything in my whole life.

　　The familiar sound of the door creaking open causes me to run into the hallway. I still have the letter clutched to my chest. But my face falls as soon as I see my father's face.

　　"Hey, Kit Kat," Dad says in a tired voice. "I have some news."

　　"Me too," I practically scream. "You go first."

　　"Your mom," he pauses.

　　My face falls. "Is she okay?" I ask as I run for my jacket. "I can be ready to go now."

　　"Settle down," Dad says with a heavy chuckle. "She is the same as the last you saw her."

　　I set my jacket back on its hook. "Then what is wrong?"

　　"Your mother got accepted into a special program in Texas. They have a new experimental drug which they believe may help to shrink the tumor in her brain." Dad makes his way into the kitchen and sits down at our little table.

　　"That's great!" I exclaim. "Why don't you look more excited?"

　　Dad presses his fingers to his temples as his head hurts. "It isn't that easy Kit Kat. She has to be in Texas for the experimental drugs."

　　"What does that mean for us?" I ask quietly.

　　"I will be moving to Texas to be near your mother while she goes through treatment, and since you haven't made a college decision, I thought you would come along," he says carefully.

　　"Where will we live?" I ask.

　　"I have purchased an old farmhouse and a bit of land," Dad says with a smile.

　　For as long as I can remember, Mom has begged Dad to move to the country and live on a farm. She grew up on one as a child and had so many fond memories that she wanted to recreate that childhood for my sister and me. Dad never said no, but whenever Mom would bring it up, he would say not right now.

　　That was always his answer until now. My older sister left for college, and my mother was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.

　　Refusing to give up, Mom exposed herself to every treatment she could over the past two years, and the tumor only continued to grow. But now it sounds like with this new treatment there might be a chance.

　　So now Dad has relocated his job and bought a farm. I know it is because he wants Mom to be happy once she is well, but I know that it is so he can fulfill her one dream. Likely, she will never leave the hospital to see the farm he purchased, but I guess it is the thought that matters.

　　"Okay," I say, still clutching the letter in my hands. "For how long?"

　　"Until the end," Dad says sadly.

　　"By the end… you mean…" I gulp.

　　Dad shakes his head up and down. Not wanting to answer my unspoken question. Tears burn in my eyes for the loss of my mother and now the loss of my dream. I turn my back on Dad and ball the acceptance letter in my hands.

　　"When are we leaving?" I ask, not turning around.