Autumn Henningsen lives and breathes music. Just like her father, and his father before him, she has dreams to be a star.
But those dreams won't happen if she stays in Gullwitch Cove, LA, a small town with a population of about 1000. Nothing ever h...
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𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕣; 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤
Autumn
I've always believed in happy endings. Fairy tales, to me, are always bound to come true. The princess gets a happy life, gets to ride off into the sunset, and lives happily ever after.
When I was little, Dad brought me a piano, a small Yamaha keyboard, with keys big enough for my little fingers. It was sleek, it was beautiful, and I loved it so much.
Then one day, my dad took it away from me for no reason. I was about twelve years old and didn't understand the meaning of what would turn out to be another one of his "lessons". When I cried, he looked at me and said, "Don't believe in happy endings, Autumn. Life will screw you over so many times that the best you can hope for is a decent ending to your song." He gave it back to me, and we moved on.
It was almost like it never even happened. Since that day, I've held firm to the belief that happy endings do exist. It's the only thing I can hold on to.
My dad is a famous country singer. He's traveled all over the world, been inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame, played at the Opry. Everything fell into Daniel Lee Henningsen's lap.
I wanted to be just like him one day.
Spotted: Daniel Lee Henningsen Out on the Bustling Streets of NYC, Another Woman on His Arm. Uh-Oh, Mrs. Henningsen. Looks Like Trouble in Paradise.
I close the three year old article and throw my phone across the field.
Sometimes, it's better to be your own person. That way, you won't be let down by the people who are supposed to know you, to take care of you. My parents weren't happy, yes, but they weren't supposed to leave fourteen year old me and twenty three year old Emery to take care of ourselves.
That's not how the story is supposed to go.
I sigh, and stand up, feeling the scratchy stems of wheat against my bare feet. The rising sun paints orange and purple streaks across the sky, and it bathes my face in a golden light. Guitar and songbook in hand, I head back towards the house, leaves crunching under my toes. My short red hair blows gently in the early morning breeze, as I walk up to the back of our house and open the screen door.
"Em! I'm back!" I call. Emery walks into the kitchen, heels clicking on the tile floor.
"Just in time, too," Emery answers, getting a salad kit out of the fridge, "I was going to leave you locked out."
"You know you wouldn't do that." I kiss her on the cheek and grab a milk from the fridge.
"Seriously, Autumn, can you at least try to make it back at a reasonable time?" Emery checks her reflection in the microwave glass, and grabs her bag from the coattrack by our door. "You're going to get me fired one of these days."
