Put a Smile On
*
Live. Laugh. Love.
I never imagined myself working at a place like J-Life.
As a little girl, I dreamed of a life filled with art and glory—standing on stage as applause thundered after an encore or typing the final word of a best-selling novel about friendship and courage.
Those dreams fueled me. They made me believe I’d grow into someone extraordinary.
Instead, I became a business analyst turned project manager at a faceless tech company. Now, I spent my days teaching people how to do their jobs and tracking whether they’d done them. It’s a career no child ever dreams about.
The passions that once fed my soul—painting, writing, even the whimsical fantasy of becoming a forest witch—couldn’t pay the bills. I had to eat, after all.
“Brianna, thank you so much for the report. The level of detail was perfect.”
Hope, my manager, leaned into my cubicle, her bright smile cutting through the dull office air. She wore hot-pink skinny jeans, a flowy white blouse, and impossibly high heels—sharp and bold, just like her energy.
She embodied everything I wasn’t: confidence, composure, and fearless authenticity.
“No problem, Hope. Are we still on for lunch?” I asked, already anticipating our time together. Hope didn’t just inspire me—she represented who I aspired to become.
She nodded before walking off to take a call.
Her grace under pressure, unapologetic boldness, and ability to command any room captivated me.
I had first noticed her managing another team, slamming a binder on the table in a room full of men and silencing them without a word.
Since then, I’d studied her like a textbook.
No amount of mimicry made me her. Beneath my polished exterior, insecurity clung tightly, rooted in the lie I had woven into my life, not just my résumé.
Robert spent the day meeting with his college counselor to figure out his next steps. He stayed calm, but anxiety gnawed at me. I kept checking my phone for an update, wishing I could match his composure, but I failed.
Lunch with Hope felt like a welcome escape. We ordered sandwiches and beers—hers a cider, mine a lager—and for a moment, the weight on my shoulders eased.
“How do you feel about your career these days?” Hope asked, sipping her drink, her gaze steady but kind.
I paused, considering. “It’s not what I imagined, but I feel good about the work. I’m confident I’m doing well.”
She smiled knowingly. “You sound like an artist trapped in the corporate world. One day, you’ll have the freedom to be anything you want. Until then, you’re doing great—even if you hate it.”
Her words made me laugh, and for a fleeting second, I felt lighter. Hope had a way of making people feel seen, even when she wasn’t trying.
“What are your weekend plans?” I asked, nudging the conversation away from me.
She grinned. “Tailgating, as usual. A bunch of rowdy friends and I, drinking just enough to drive home legally.”
I snorted. “God bless the Midwest, where we’ve perfected drunk-ish driving and somehow survive.”
Conversation flowed easily, as it always did with her—until her tone shifted. She reached into her bag, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and placed it on the table.
“I need to talk to you about this,” she said, quiet and serious.
My stomach dropped. Panic bubbled in my chest as I unfolded the paper. The words blurred, but the message hit like a punch:
Dear Hope Grey-Miller,
Your employee, Brianna Rook, has falsely portrayed her personal history. According to our records, she claimed her family is deceased, which contradicts the background check completed on November 7, 2014.
Due to this discrepancy, Brianna will no longer be allowed to work on the Project Melon Application. The manager will determine the following steps, but she is no longer eligible to handle confidential projects.
Sincerely,
Matt Wright, Head of Security
The air thickened, pressing down on me. My carefully constructed lie—the one that shielded me from uncomfortable questions—was unraveling.
Why hadn’t I just told the truth? I rarely spoke to my family anymore. It never felt like enough to say I was estranged from my family. So, I buried them. Pretended they were dead, and now I was paying for it.
Hope’s voice broke through the spiral.
“I’m not going to fire you,” she said gently, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
Relief washed over me, but shame followed quickly, sinking deep.
“What happens now?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “Is my job gone?”
She shook her head. “No, you’re too valuable. However, I need to remove you from the confidential projects. This lie is serious, Brianna. I had to talk to you before I made a final call.”
I stared down, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I had messed up. Badly.
“Why did you lie?” she asked, calm but edged with disappointment.
I rubbed my forehead. “When I filled out the clearance forms, I realized I’d never pass with my real family listed. I asked if I could omit them, and someone told me the only exception was if they were dead.”
Hope let out a dry chuckle. “Brianna, everyone has family they wish were dead. I get wanting to cut ties. But lying on legal documents? That’s not the way.”
Her words stung, but she was right. She softened.
“Next time, talk to me. You’re smart, but you need to be smarter.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “If I’d included my family’s bankruptcies and criminal records, I never would’ve been approved.”
She nodded sympathetically. “I’m not saying share every detail. But don’t fake a death. That’s permanent. It removes nuance. It removes options.”
Her words landed hard, but they felt like a lifeline.
“You’ll need to explain this to the team,” she added more firmly. “You can’t leave it hanging. Tell them you’re estranged. Say it’s complicated. But own it.”
I nodded, the gravity of it all settling in.
“I’ll apologize. I’ll explain. I’ll be honest—at least as much as I can be.”
“Good,” she said. “And one more thing—get away from your family. The first chance you get, cut ties and don’t look back.”
Her words hit me like a blow. “What?”
Hope leaned in, her eyes sharp. “You’ve outgrown them, Bree. Move on. You’re too talented to keep letting your past hold you hostage.”
Frustration surged. “It’s not that simple. Robert’s still in school. We can’t just leave.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You can and you should. Robert will figure it out. You’re holding yourself back.”
Her conviction rattled me. Deep down, I knew she was right, but fear gripped me.
“What if I fail?” I whispered.
“You won’t,” she said without hesitation.
I took a slow sip of beer, her words echoing. As I set the glass down, my phone buzzed. A message from Robert flashed on the screen:
We need to talk.
The words curled around my throat like a noose.
“What’s wrong?” Hope asked. She must’ve noticed my expression shift.
“Robert,” I said, voice tight. “He wants to talk. He met with his counselor today.”
Hope didn’t press. “Go home. Figure it out. You’ve got this.”
I forced a small smile as I got up to leave. “Thanks, Hope.”
“Anytime, Bree,” she said, lifting her glass.
When we finished lunch, Hope walked me towards my car, only to wave me off with a quick, playful gesture.
“I’ll tell anyone looking for you that you got food poisoning,” she said with a wink, her laughter light and effortless, as she opened the door to her BMW.
I couldn’t help but admire the ease with which she bent the truth. She made it look natural—almost elegant—something I could never quite manage. Her ability to disarm people was calming.
Yet, as I sat in my car, seeing Hope pull away, the unease of the day wouldn’t lift. What did Robert want to say? What was about to change?