Chapter Twenty One Lets Go Home
Authors notes: hey guys, sorry for the confusion with the sunday dinner chapter.
I accidentally published an extra draft.
Usually when i post a story its already completed, the full chapters are already sitting in my drafts and i publish them one by one after revisions and proofreading.
But somehow i still didnt noticed we had two sunday dinners (clearly, Rosana really wanted that to happen hahaha).
Ive deleted the extra one but kept the chapter numbering as is. Thank you guys for calling it out. ????
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Brandon Patterson stood in the rain, watching Lena Thomson walk into Golden Thread Pictures.
He should have left. His uncle had told him to go home. His uncle had said I can't save you. His uncle had looked at him with empty eyes and told him to wait for whatever came next.
But Brandon couldn't leave. He needed to see. He needed to understand. A pregnant woman in a cat hoodie. A junior screenwriter with mismatched socks. How could she be the one thing that mattered? How could she be the reason his uncle's face had gone white?
He followed.
Not through the front door. He wasn't stupid.
He walked around the building, found the side entrance, the one that led to the parking lot.
He slipped inside. The hallway was empty.
The lights were dim. The building was quiet—most of the staff had gone home, leaving only the late-night workers, the ones who stayed past 6 PM because they had deadlines or because they didn't have anywhere else to be.
He walked toward the main office. Kept to the shadows. Stayed quiet.
Through the glass walls, he saw her.
Lena Thomson was standing in the middle of the office. Her coat was dark, her hair was loose, her presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break. Gerald had emerged from his office, his face pale, his hands raised like he was approaching something dangerous.
"Ms. Thomson," Gerald said. "I didn't expect—"
Lena held up her hand. She didn't look at him. She didn't acknowledge him. She just waved her fingers, a small gesture, a dismissal. Gerald stopped talking. He stepped back. He knew why she was here.
Everyone knew.
Colin was standing near Miu's desk. His face was tired, his shirt was wrinkled, his hands were shoved in his pockets. Jen was beside him, her laptop open, pretending to work. Priya was at her desk, frozen. Sandra was in the break room doorway, a coffee mug in her hand, not moving.
They were all watching.
Lena walked to Miu's desk. She walked like she had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered, like the only thing in this building worth her attention was sleeping in a desk chair with her head on a stack of scripts.
Miu was asleep.
Her hoodie was grey, the one with the cat napping on a stack of books. Her hair was falling over her face. Her hands were tucked under her cheek. Her feet were bare—her shoes were somewhere under the desk, kicked off hours ago, forgotten.
Colin stepped forward. "She's tired," he said quietly. "She hasn't been sleeping. She hasn't been eating. She just—she wouldn't go home."
Lena looked at him. "Thank you," she said. "For staying with her."
Colin blinked. He had expected anger. He had expected questions. He hadn't expected gratitude.
"She's my friend," he said.
Lena nodded. Then she turned to Adrian, who had followed her in. "Get a chair."
Adrian didn't ask questions. He walked to the empty desk beside Miu's, picked up the chair, and brought it to Lena. She sat down. Beside Miu's desk. Close enough to see her face. Close enough to reach.
She took off her coat. Her blazer was underneath—charcoal, expensive, the kind of thing she wore to board meetings and shareholder presentations. She folded it carefully. Then she leaned over and draped it over Miu's shoulders.
Miu stirred.
Her nose wrinkled. Her eyes fluttered. She made a sound, small and sleepy, the sound of someone who didn't want to wake up.
"Miu," Lena said. Her voice was soft. Lower than Brandon had ever heard a voice go.
Miu's eyes opened. She blinked. Looked at Lena. For a moment, she didn't seem to understand where she was. Then her face softened. The tension in her shoulders eased. The lines around her eyes smoothed.
"You came," Miu said. Her voice was thick with sleep.
"I came."
"I'm sleepy."
"I know."
Lena leaned forward. She bent down, lower than the desk, lower than Miu's chair, so she was looking up at her. Her face was gentle. Her eyes were soft. She looked at Miu like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
"Let's go home," Lena said.
Miu nodded. Groggy. Sleepy. She didn't argue. She didn't say she had work to do, pages to finish, deadlines to meet. She just nodded, like the word home was the only thing she had been waiting to hear.
She tried to stand. Her legs were shaky. She put her hand on the desk to steady herself. Her feet were bare.
Lena looked down. Saw the shoes under the desk. She knelt.
Brandon watched from the hallway. He watched Lena Thomson—the CEO of Thomson Group, the woman who owned half of Vancouver, the woman who had made his uncle's face go white with fear—kneel on the floor of a creative subsidiary office and pick up a pair of scuffed boots.
She didn't ask for help. She didn't look around to see who was watching. She just took the boots, held them open, and slid them onto Miu's feet.
One. Then the other.
She tied the laces. Slowly. Carefully. Like she had all the time in the world.
Miu looked down at her. Her eyes were wet. "Lena."
"Almost done."
"You don't have to—"
"I know."
She tied the second boot. Tucked the laces in. Then she stood, put her hand on Miu's back, and guided her toward the door.
Colin stepped forward. "Miu. Your bag."
Miu blinked. Looked at her desk. Her bag was under it, buried under scripts and gummy bears and a pregnancy book she had been reading.
Lena picked it up. Sling it over her shoulder. "I've got it."
She looked at Colin. "Thank you. For the gummy bears."
Colin's face went red. "She likes the green ones."
"I know."
She guided Miu toward the door. Adrian opened it. The office was silent. Jen was watching with her hand over her mouth. Priya was crying. Sandra was pretending she wasn't.
Gerald stood by his office door. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
Lena paused at the door. She looked back at him.
"She's taking next week off," Lena said. "Maybe longer."
Gerald nodded. "Take whatever she needs."
Lena looked at the office. At the desks where Brandon had spread his rumors. At the chairs where people had sat and listened and done nothing. At the walls that had held the whispers that made Miu cry.
"If anyone has a problem with that," Lena said, "they can call my office."
No one spoke.
Lena walked out. Miu leaned into her. Her steps were slow. Her eyes were half-closed. But she was moving. She was leaving. She was going home.
---
Brandon watched from the hallway.
He had seen everything. The way Lena had dismissed Gerald with a wave of her hand. The way she had draped her coat over Miu's shoulders. The way she had knelt on the floor to tie her shoes. The way she had looked at her—like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
His hands were shaking. His legs were weak. The woman he had called nobody was leaning on the CEO of Thomson Group. The woman he had mocked was wearing Lena Thomson's coat. The woman he had said didn't belong was being led home by the person who owned everything.
He stepped back. Pressed against the wall. He didn't want to be seen. He didn't want to be here.
But he couldn't look away.
Gerald's voice came from behind him. "I warned you."
Brandon turned. Gerald was standing in the doorway, his face gray, his eyes tired.
"I didn't know," Brandon said. "I didn't—she never said—"
"She shouldn't have to say anything." Gerald stepped closer.
His voice was low. "She shouldn't have to tell you who she knows to be treated like a person.
She shouldn't have to prove she matters.
She just should. Because she's a person.
Because she's a writer. Because she's growing a human inside her body.
Because she shows up every day and does her job and doesn't ask for anything. "
Brandon opened his mouth. Closed it.
"But you," Gerald continued, "you walked into this building and decided she was nothing.
You decided that because she wore a hoodie, because she was Thai, because she was pregnant, she didn't deserve respect.
You spread rumors about her. You made her cry at her desk.
And you did it all because you thought your uncle's name made you untouchable. "
Brandon's voice was barely a whisper. "What's going to happen?"
Gerald looked at him. "I don't know. But I know that Lena Thomson just knelt on the floor to tie that woman's shoes. And I know that you made that woman cry. And I know that Lena Thomson has destroyed companies for less."
He turned. Walked back into the office. The door closed behind him.
Brandon stood in the hallway. The building was quiet. The lights were dim. The rain was tapping against the windows.
He walked to the front entrance. Pushed open the door. The street was wet. The black car was gone. Lena Thomson was gone. The woman in the cat hoodie was gone.
He stood there for a long time. The rain soaked through his suit. His hands were shaking. His uncle's face was in his head—white, terrified, broken.
I can't save you.
He pulled out his phone. Called his uncle. It went to voicemail.
He called again. Voicemail.
He called a third time. His uncle picked up.
"Brandon."
His uncle's voice was flat. Empty.
"I saw her," Brandon said. "I saw Lena Thomson. She came to the office. She—" His voice cracked. "She knelt on the floor, Uncle Richard. She tied the woman's shoes. She looked at her like—"
"I know."
Brandon's heart stopped. "You know?"
"Adrian Park called me. While you were watching."
Brandon leaned against the wall. The rain was cold. The city was dark. "What did he say?"
Richard was quiet for a moment. Then: "He said 'she's mad. You need to settle this. Or else she will.'"
Brandon closed his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"It means I have one chance. One conversation. One apology. And if it's not enough—" His voice cracked. "Everything. Gone."
Brandon's legs gave out. He slid down the wall, sat on the wet sidewalk, the rain soaking through his pants, his shirt, his skin.
"Uncle Richard, I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"I know you didn't." Richard's voice was tired. "That's the problem. You never do."
The line went dead.
Brandon sat on the sidewalk. The rain fell. The city hummed. The building behind him was dark. The office where he had spent three days proving he was untouchable was empty.
He thought about the woman in the cat hoodie. The way she had kept typing. The way she had wiped her tears. The way she had said you're going to send yourself home.
She had been right. He had sent himself home. He had destroyed his uncle's career. He had made the most powerful woman in Vancouver his enemy.
And all because he had seen a pregnant woman in a hoodie and decided she was nobody.
---
The apartment was dark when they walked in.
Miu's apartment. The one with the broken dishwasher and the cracked tile and the cat who judged everyone. Lena guided her to the couch, sat her down, knelt in front of her.
"Stay here," Lena said.
Miu nodded. Her eyes were half-closed. Her hands were limp in her lap.
Lena went to the kitchen. Filled the kettle. Put it on the stove. She moved quietly, deliberately, the way she moved in boardrooms and conference halls. But her hands were shaking. Just a little.
She made tea. Herbal. With honey. The way Miu liked it. She brought it to the couch, set it on the table, sat beside Miu.
"Drink," Lena said.
Miu picked up the mug. Her hands were shaking. She took a sip. Then another. The tea was warm. The honey was sweet. The apartment was quiet.
Lena watched her. Didn't speak. Didn't push. Just sat beside her, close enough to touch, close enough to hold.
Miu set down the mug. Her hands were still shaking.
"Lena."
"I'm here."
"I didn't—" Her voice cracked. "I didn't want to call you. I didn't want to be the person who calls."
"I know."
"I wanted to handle it myself. I wanted to prove that I could. That I didn't need you to fight my battles. That I wasn't—" Her breath caught. "That I wasn't nobody."
Lena's face didn't change, but her eyes went bright. "You're not nobody. You've never been nobody."
"Then why did I let him say those things? Why did I sit there and take it? Why didn't I—" Her voice broke. The tears came. All the tears she had been holding back for three days, for three weeks, for three months. "Why didn't I tell him? Why didn't I say your name? Why didn't I—"
"Because you're stronger than him." Lena reached out. Took Miu's hands. "Because you wanted to earn it. Because you've spent your whole life earning everything, and you weren't going to stop now. Because you're Miu. And you don't ask for help. Even when you need it."
Miu's face crumpled. The tears were falling now, fast and hot, running down her cheeks, dripping onto her hoodie.
Lena pulled her close. Miu fell into her. Her face pressed into Lena's shoulder. Her hands clutched Lena's shirt. Her body shook with the force of her sobs.
Lena held her. Didn't speak. Didn't try to fix it. Just held her. One hand on her back, moving in slow circles. The other hand in her hair, stroking, soothing, grounding.
"I've got you," Lena whispered. "I've got you."
Miu cried. The tears came from somewhere deep, somewhere she had been hiding for a long time. All the years of being told she didn't belong. All the moments of being looked at like she was less. All the small cruelties she had swallowed and pretended didn't hurt.
Lena held her through all of it.
She kissed her hair. Soft. Gentle. A promise.
She kissed her forehead. Her temple. The space between her eyebrows.
She kissed her closed eyes. The tears on her cheeks. The bridge of her nose. The corner of her mouth.
Not on the lips. Not yet. Just the places that needed to know they were loved.
Miu's sobs slowed. Her breathing steadied. Her hands relaxed their grip on Lena's shirt.
"It's going to be okay," Lena said. Her voice was low, steady, certain. "Tomorrow, it's going to be okay. Not perfect. Not fixed. But better. And the day after that, better. And the day after that—"
"You can't promise that," Miu whispered.
"I can promise that I'll be there. Every day. Every morning. Every night. I'll make you soup and buy you gummy bears and tie your shoes when you're too tired to do it yourself."
Miu laughed. It was watery, choked, but it was real. "You tied my shoes."
"You didn't have your shoes on."
"You knelt on the floor."
"I wanted to."
Miu pulled back. Looked at her. Lena's shirt was wet with tears. Her hair was messy. Her eyes were bright.
"You're a mess," Miu said.
"I've been told."
"You're also—" Miu's voice caught. "You're the only person who's ever—" She stopped. Swallowed. "The only person who's ever made me feel like I don't have to earn it."
Lena's face softened. "You don't have to earn anything. You never did."
Miu looked at her. Then she leaned forward, pressed her forehead against Lena's, closed her eyes.
"Take me to bed," Miu said. "I'm tired."
Lena stood. Helped Miu up. Guided her to the bedroom. The cat was already there, curled on the pillow, waiting.
Miu lay down. Lena pulled the blanket over her. Tucked it around her shoulders. Kissed her forehead one more time.
"Sleep," Lena said. "I'll be here when you wake up."
Miu's eyes were already closing. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Miu smiled. Small. Tired. Real. Then she was asleep.
Lena sat on the edge of the bed. Watched her breathe. The cat opened one eye, looked at her, closed it again.
She stayed there for a long time.
---
Across the city, Richard Patterson sat in his office.
The building was empty. The lights were off. The only light came from his desk lamp, a small circle of yellow in the dark.
His phone was on the desk. Adrian Park's words were still in his head.
She's mad. You need to settle this. Or else she will.
Richard picked up his phone. Stared at it. He thought about calling Lena. About apologizing. About begging.
He set the phone down.
He thought about the woman in the cat hoodie. The one his nephew had called nobody. The one Lena Thomson had knelt for.
He had never met her. He had never spoken to her.
But he had let his nephew walk into her office and destroy her peace.
He had let him spread rumors and make comments and call her nothing.
He had let him do it because he thought Brandon was learning.
Because he thought Brandon was finding weaknesses.
Because he thought the game was about power.
He had been wrong. The game was never about power. The game was about people. And his nephew had picked the wrong person.
He picked up his phone. Dialed.
"Adrian," he said. "I want to apologize. To her. To Ms. Thomson. To anyone who—"
"An apology isn't enough."
Richard closed his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
Adrian was quiet for a moment. Then: "Your nephew is not welcome at any Thomson subsidiary. Ever. You will make sure he understands that. You will make sure he never speaks to or about Miu Srisuwan again."
"I can do that."
"You will also take a leave of absence. Two weeks. Starting Monday. When you come back, you will have a conversation with Ms. Thomson about what you learned during your time away."
Richard's heart was pounding. "A leave of absence?"
"You need time to think about what your nephew did. About what you allowed to happen. About the culture you've been building in your department." Adrian's voice was cold. "Ms. Thomson is giving you a chance to fix it. Don't waste it."
The line went dead.
Richard sat in the dark. The desk lamp was still on. The mountains were hidden. The city was asleep.
He picked up his phone. Called Brandon.
His nephew answered on the first ring. "Uncle Richard—"
"Go home," Richard said. "Pack your things. You're leaving Vancouver. Tomorrow."
"What? Where am I supposed to—"
"I don't care. Go to your mother's. Go to a friend's. Go anywhere. But you're not staying here. You're not working for Thomson Group. You're not coming near this city again."
"Uncle Richard, please—"
Richard closed his eyes. "I spent twelve years building a career. Twelve years of loyalty. Twelve years of believing that if I worked hard enough, played the game well enough, I would be safe. And you destroyed it in three days. Because you saw a woman in a hoodie and decided she was nobody."
Brandon was crying. Richard could hear it in his voice. "I didn't know—"
"That's the problem, Brandon. You didn't know. And you didn't care to find out." He hung up. Set the phone on the desk. Looked out the window.
The city was dark. The mountains were hidden. The future he had spent twelve years building was gone.
He sat there for a long time. Waiting for morning. Waiting for whatever came next.
---
In the apartment, Lena sat beside Miu's bed.
Miu was asleep. Her face was relaxed. Her breathing was steady. The cat was curled at her feet.
Lena watched her. The way her lips parted. The way her hand rested on her stomach. The way her hair spread across the pillow.
She thought about Brandon Patterson. About the things he had said. About the way Miu had cried in her arms.
She thought about Richard Patterson. About the leave of absence. About the conversation they would have when he came back.
She thought about the Phoenix Group conference. About the call she would make tomorrow, canceling her attendance. About the message that would send.
She just needed to be here. With Miu. With the woman who had never asked for anything, who had tried to fight her battles alone, who had cried in her arms and let herself be held.
That was enough. That was everything.
She leaned down. Kissed Miu's forehead. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
Miu stirred. Her hand reached out, found Lena's, held on.
Lena sat in the dark. Held her hand. Watched her sleep.
The rain stopped. The city quieted. The apartment was warm and small and full of everything that mattered.
Tomorrow, there would be calls to make. Conversations to have. Consequences to face.
But tonight, there was this. There was Miu, asleep in her bed,