Shawna finally returns to the track for the race that could change everything. But just as he approaches his most critical maneuver, someone runs into the track. What should have been his great return becomes a viral spectacle and an anguish he never saw coming.
I could feel the tension under Dakota’s skin, like a tense wire about to break or sing. This was the time we had arrived.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
The stadium was bubbling with energy. It was the last day of the Regional Reigning Championships and the audience was numerous: all eyes on the next competitor. In us.
“Entering the arena: Shawna and Dakota,” the announcer’s voice slipped through the murmur.
I climbed on the saddle, with my face like a mask of calm while my shoulders remained tense enough to break pencils.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
My palms were sweating under the gloves. Dakota’s ears moved from side to side; he was attentive, but nervous. Ready enough to know that this mattered, sensitive enough to feel my heart racing.
“Calm down, boy,” I whispered, stroking his neck. “Like in training.”
We reached the center of the ring and I took a deep breath. Months of struggle, pain and reconstruction led me to this moment. After greeting the judges, I put myself in position. Dakota’s muscles tensed under me, prepared.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
I made a sign and we started.
The first maneuvers were wonderful. Our circles were closed and controlled, and our changes of direction, sharp and precise.
I was still focused, limiting myself to feeling my horse under me and the pattern we had to execute.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pixabay
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pixabay
“That’s it,” I whispered. “That’s my boy.”
The pattern was doing better than I had dared to expect. Every transition felt smooth, every turn tight and controlled. Dakota was with me, present and willing. The crowd vanished. The past vanished. There was only that moment, that connection.
Then came the time for the sliding stop, the maneuver that almost ended my career as a rider.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
I remembered that horrible day.
We had been practicing sliding stops, looking for the perfect balance between speed and control. One of the cats in the stable scared a bird and my horse, normally imperturbable, got scared in the middle of the race.
I fell hard. I broke my ribs and suffered a concussion. Dakota suffered a pull in a tendon: it’s not a lasting injury, but it destroyed her confidence to stop.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
“He doesn’t trust himself anymore,” Maggie had said during our long way back. “And he’s reading your doubts.”
For months, we had worked to rebuild that trust. Slow approaches. Soft indications. Returning to the speed of competition.
In the weeks prior to this event, we had started nailing stops again. Clean and powerful slides that reminded me why I had fallen in love with taming.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
“If he hesitates,” Maggie had told me the night before, “drive it. Trust him to take you and show him the confidence he needs to trust you to guide him.”
I subtly adjusted the reins, sat deep on the chair and sent him forward with a prayer. Dakota answered, preparing to run down the center line. His stride was entened, his balance was centered.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. A man climbed through the side door of the track. He had flowers in his hand. Dark jeans. Blazer
My heart skipped a beat. It was Nathan, my boyfriend.
My brain screamed. Not here. Not now. No. No. No!
The stadium staff realized it too late.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Normally, safety is not a concern because no one ever enters the arena. But Nathan was inside now, running forward with a stupid and radiant smile, as if it were an Instagram moment that he had carefully elaborated.
Nathan ran to the center line, right in the space where we intended to reach the top. He screamed and his voice spread
through the stadium, which had suddenly been silenced.
“Shawna! DO YOU WANT TO MARRY ME?”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Dakota, who was galloping along the line, raised her head and turned away from the center line. I felt the instant change in his body: confidence disappeared and was replaced by confusion and fear.
I was invaded by fury and panic while I shouted: “NO! GET OUT OF MY WAY, NATHAN!”
The commissioner’s whistle cut the air like a knife.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
A red flag was raised. My career was over.
The judges declared the arena compromised. Disqualification.
Not because I made a mistake. Because someone else decided that my moment should be theirs.
It was like seeing how everything slipped out of my hands in slow motion. Months of sweat, setbacks and stubborn hope crushed under a man’s ego.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
I stopped Dakota, her body numb from disbelief. The crowd murmured, a mixture of confusion and sympathy invaded us.
Nathan was frozen in the center of the arena, his smile of proposal hesitated as the security guards rushed in.
I left the stadium with a tense face, trying to keep my composure. Dakota was sweating and tense, not destroyed, but clearly nervous.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Maggie took the reins while I disassembled. “I already have it. Take a deep breath.”
His eyes said everything his words didn’t say. I knew what it had cost us.
“That idiot,” he murmured. “I’m going to calm Dakota down. Go take care of… that.” He pointed to the door with his head.
As they turned the corner, Nathan and his parents waited as if they oke them something.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Nathan stepped forward, still with the damn ring box in his hand.
“What the hell was that, Shawna?” he asked, with a smile replaced by confusion and pain. “You haven’t even looked at me.”
I stared at him, with disbelief turned into fury. “You got into my career, Nathan. Do you understand what you’ve cost me?”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
“I wanted it to be special! I thought you’d be happy.”
“Happy?” My voice broke. “Yous just destroyed months of work. That qualifying race was everything.”
His mother intervened, with a high-pitched voice of disapproval. “I wanted to do something special! You didn’t have to humiliate him like that.”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
“Humiliate him?” I repeated. “I told you this competition was crucial. I explained to you what it meant to me. And you chose to turn it into something of yours.”
Nathan opened his arms, his frustration was evident. “It’s always about horses. It’s always some tape or number. Do you never want to enjoy life?”
Then I realized, as clear as the lights of the stadium: He never saw my true self.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
And I really didn’t understand why what I had done was wrong.
“I was enjoying life. I was enjoying the moment when all my hard work and Dakota’s paid off, and you stole it from us,” I said, with a firmer voice than I felt. “If you can’t respect what I do in that Arena, or understand how important it is to me, then I don’t want to stay by your side.”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
“Shawna, you don’t want to say…”
“Yes, I want to.” I turned around. “Goodbye, Nathan.”
I walked away. No tears. Without looking back. I felt the hollow chest, but my steps did not hesitate.
That night, my phone rang as I finished Dakota’s night control. A message from my friend Taylor.
“You’re on TikTok. It’s everywhere.”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
I almost dropped my phone.
When I opened the link, there it was: a video of the stadium. Someone had caught everything: Nathan going up to the ring, my reaction of surprise, Dakota deviating and the red flag raising.
And the worst of all? The caption said: “He said no in front of everyone 😳💔 #proposalf #horsepeoplearecrazy.”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
The video already had thousands of views, and the comments were not long in coming:
“I could have said yes and talked later.”
“Cord heart. The guy deserves better.”
“It makes me laugh; she chose the horse before him.”
Some defended me, but the loudest painted me as the villain.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
My return was not trendy because of my walk with Dakota. It was a trend because of a man who believed that the center of attention should be his.
I put the phone aside and rested my forehead on Dakota’s neck, breathing her
familiar aroma.
“How can they say those things? How can they not see that he has ruined everything for us?” I whispered.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
A few days later, I noticed that Dakota began to limp slightly during our cooling walk. I got a knot in my stomach.
The veterinarian confirmed my fears: a slight distension of the babilla, probably due to the lateral displacement of panic during the dry stop.
“It’s not serious,” Dr. Rivera assured me, “but he needs about two weeks of leave. Only light work.”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
I had to withdraw from the next test, which I hoped would be my last chance to qualify. The disappointment was a physical pain in my chest.
Then Nathan posted his own video, stating in tears that “he just wanted to celebrate his big moment” and that he was “destayed by how cold I was.”
His followers flooded my social networks, leaving unpleasant comments and threats.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
“You should see the things that are said,” Taylor told me while we had a coffee. “It’s horrible.”
“I’m not going to see it,” I said, stirring my drink without drinking it. “I can’t.”
“Maybe you should tell your version,” she suggested softly. “People are just hearing his version.”
I shook my head. “What’s the point? The Internet has decided that I am the villain.”
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
A week passed. The video continued to dominate my feed. Nathan was getting all the sympathy possible from him. Some friends had been silent or, even worse, they had taken his side.
Even my sister had sent me a message asking me if “I couldn’t have been nicer about it.”
I was exhausted. Standing in Dakota’s booth, watching him doze, something in me changed.
He had stopped keeping silent.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
That night, I created my own video, a montage of clips that highlighted Dakota’s recovery and me after the initial accident.
Trembling images of our first walk after weeks of rest. The day Dakota made her first attempt to slip after the injury. The hours of work on the ground, the setbacks and the small victories that were added to our return to the competition.
Then, the sand incident. Nathan entering. Dakota got scared. The red flag.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
“This wasn’t just a competition,” I told. “It was the story of our return. It was an association based on trust and rebuilt through pain. This was not the place for someone else’s great gesture.”
I published it without thinking too much and then put the laptop away.
In the morning, it had exploded.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Public opinion began to change. Equestrian circles joined me, sharing their own stories of associations with their horses and devastating setbacks.
Some of those who had supported Nathan began to delete comments or apologize.
“That’s why you don’t have to mess with the horse girls,” said one comment. “They understand commitment better than most people understand love.”
People finally understood it.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Two weeks after the burst, I received an unexpected message from a high-level coach known throughout the reining world.
My fingers trembled when I opened it, sure it was going to be a polite version of “Keep your head up” or, even worse, a sermon on how to be more understanding with my boyfriend’s intentions.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Pexels
“I’ve seen your video,” he wrote. “And I’ve seen your previous performances. There is enough to believe that you and your castrate deserve another opportunity to demonstrate your talent.”
I read the message three times, without trusting my eyes.
“They disqualified you, and that’s the norm. But what happened out there wasn’t your fault.”
He was inviting me to participate in a show in a few weeks.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
“We can’t undo what happened in the regionals,” the message continued, “but we can give you an opportunity to show people who you are without anyone getting in your way.”
It wasn’t pity, it was respect. I hadn’t asked for that opportunity. But, somehow, I had earned it.
I immediately called Maggie, with a trembling voice from the disbelief when I told her about the message.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
“Incredible,” Maggie whispered. “That’s better than the regional ones.”
“Do you think Dakota will be ready?”
“We’ll have to be careful, but yes. We can take him there.”
That same afternoon, I went back to the barn. Dakota ran through the field, fully recovered, with her mane in the wind while running along the fence.
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
Image for illustrative purposes | Photo: Midjourney
I watched him, with one hand resting on the railing. A slow smile was drawn on my face.
“We’re not done yet, boy,” I said softly.
