Chapter 39
Elowen
It’s finally opening day. I stand behind the makeshift curtain, listening to the murmur of the crowd growing outside the sanctuary.
My sanctuary. The words still feel strange.
Eight months ago, I was Mrs. Julian Plaza, corporate wife, straightening her hair and dimming her light.
Now I’m about to step onto a podium as Elowen Plaza, Executive Director of Buttons Sanctuary Academy, my unruly curls framing my face exactly as nature intended.
The morning sun slants through gaps in the fabric, painting stripes across my navy blazer. “Three minutes,” Beatrix says, appearing at my elbow. “Decent turnout. Better than expected.”
I peek through the curtain gap and feel my breath catch.
“Decent” doesn’t begin to cover it. At least two hundred people fill the chairs we rented, with more standing around the perimeter.
The local news van is parked prominently, its reporter checking her makeup in a compact mirror.
Mayor Rodriguz stands at the podium, looking important in that way of career politicians.
“Leo and Meredith are in the front row,” I tell Beatrix, spotting my children sitting primly in their Sunday best. Leo’s spine is ramrod straight, hands folded in his lap.
Meredith bounces slightly in her seat, her excitement physically impossible to contain.
Julian sits beside them, a solid, supportive presence.
The outfit is the same, though the man inside isn’t.
“You ready?” Beatrix asks, her voice gruff with something that might be emotion.
“No,” I answer honestly, then smile. “But I’m going, anyway.”
She nods approvingly.
Mayor Rodriguz’s voice booms through the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the woman whose vision and dedication have transformed this abandoned property into a beacon of hope for our community’s most vulnerable animals.
Please welcome the Executive Director of Buttons Sanctuary Academy, Elowen Plaza. ”
The applause hits me as I step from behind the curtain, and my heels click across the temporary stage. This isn’t just my dream realized; it’s proof that second chances aren’t just for cats.
Taking my place behind the podium, I lower the microphone.
The faces in the crowd blur momentarily before snapping into focus.
My children, beaming with pride. Julian’s expression is of admiration.
Sarah gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the third row.
Even Trey flew in to support me. He apologized for blurting the truth, but it was never about him; it was about Julian.
Trey stands next to Sarah, who side-eyes him and tries to step away.
Only she bumps into Connor, who stands with his arms crossed.
With nowhere to go, she falls back into Trey.
When all three of them catch me staring, they smile.
Scattered throughout, dozens of volunteers who’ve given countless hours to make this day possible.
Mom made it, too. She waves when we lock eyes.
“Thank you, Mayor Rodriguz, and thank you all for coming today,” I begin. “Eight months ago, this property was abandoned. Today, it stands as Buttons Sanctuary Academy, which is a safe haven for stray and abandoned cats, and a resource center for our community.
“Buttons Sanctuary Academy will focus on three primary missions,” I continue, hitting my stride now.
“First, rescuing and rehabilitating stray cats, with special attention to those considered ‘difficult or special cases.’ Second, facilitating adoptions to create forever bonds between animals and humans who need each other. And third, providing education to our community about responsible pet ownership and the importance of spay and neuter programs.”
As I outline the specific programs—the children’s reading program, the senior volunteer initiative, the partnership with local schools—I watch faces in the crowd light up with recognition. These aren’t my ideas; they belong to all of us.
“Mrs. Plaza,” calls a voice I recognize as Lila’s, the local lifestyle columnist known for asking pointed questions. “You were previously an executive assistant at Plaza Investments. What qualified you to suddenly lead an animal sanctuary?”
The question hangs, its subtext clear to everyone. My cheeks warm, but I feel nothing but determination. I meet Lila’s gaze directly.
“Compassion does not require a qualification. I simply used my experience from Plaza Investments, donated my time to Seattle King County Animal Shelter, noted a need, put in a bit of hard work, research, and used my connections for good. The community did the rest. Connor, whom I want to acknowledge right there in the crowd, is a handyman for SKCAS, and was instrumental in using his own connections to work tirelessly at bringing this shelter safe enough for our lovely cats. Sarah, sitting right over in the third row, has volunteered at SKCAS for years, despite working as a full-time teacher. She was kind enough to help and direct other newer volunteers to get this place up and running. And my mentor, Beatrix”—I start to point but she quickly shakes her head, so I drop my hand—“has successfully run SKCAS despite their budget limitations. She trusted me enough to guide me and then let me loose. Nothing was done all by myself. I know well enough to lean on support when I need it.”
Lila’s brows rise slightly, but she nods, scribbling something in her notebook.
Mayor Rodriguz steps forward with ceremonial scissors, clearly eager to reclaim control of the program. “And now, the moment we’ve been waiting for. Mrs. Plaza, would you do the honors?”
The oversized scissors feel awkward in my hands, but the ribbon stretching across the entrance looks perfect. It’s bright blue against the freshly painted building. I position the blades, conscious of the cameras recording this moment.
“To second chances,” I say clearly, then cut with one decisive motion.
The ribbon flutters to the ground as applause erupts. Doors swing open behind me, revealing the sanctuary in all its completed glory. My vision manifested through hundreds of hands working together.
As the crowd forms a line for tours, I catch Julian’s eye across the churning sea of people. As this is my professional moment, he doesn’t approach, but he does offer a small, supportive nod that speaks volumes.
We’re still hosting tours hours later, and I spot Julian across the crowded main room as I finish checking Meredith’s toy station.
He stands with his back against the far wall, hands loosely folded in front of him, watching.
Eight months ago, Julian Plaza would have been at the center of any event bearing his company’s sponsorship, directing traffic, claiming credit, optimizing every interaction. Today, he’s deliberately peripheral.
I pretend to reorganize brochures at the welcome desk, giving myself an excuse to observe him longer without being obvious.
Another visitor I vaguely recognize from Julian’s corporate circles approaches him.
Julian shakes the man’s hand but doesn’t engage in extended conversation.
Instead, he gestures toward me across the room, clearly suggesting I’m the person to speak with.
I love that man. Not the stranger he’s talking with, but Julian.
Julian’s eyes drift toward Leo’s reading corner, where my son is helping a little girl select a book from the organized shelves.
Leo’s face is serious with concentration as he listens to the girl’s preferences, then methodically searches the blue-labeled section for the perfect choice.
When he finds it, his expression brightens with subtle satisfaction.
It’s not the wide grin Meredith might give, but his own quiet version of triumph.
Julian’s face changes as he watches our son.
There’s a softening around the eyes, a slight parting of lips.
Those eyes were once described by a departing executive as cold and unreadable, but now they warm with genuine feeling.
He can give that terrifying corporate stare to whoever he wants, so long as he keeps it out of our home.
As if sensing my observation, Julian’s gaze shifts, finding me across the crowded room.
Caught watching, I don’t look away, instead allowing us to hold this moment.
A volunteer bumps my elbow, breaking the connection as I turn to answer her question about adoption procedures.
Next, the man who spoke with Julian discusses sponsorship opportunities.
When I look back, Meredith is abandoning her toy station, weaving through the crowd to where she spotted her father.
I watch Julian’s face transform as he sees her coming, genuine and unguarded.
He crouches to her level as she reaches him, giving her his complete attention as she launches into an animated description of her toy management system, complete with expansive hand gestures and occasional hops of excitement.
The last visitor finally leaves at 6:17 p.m. I stand in the doorway of the sanctuary, watching her car pull away. There were already forty-seven adoptions completed today.
“Hey.”
I turn to find Julian at the end of the hall. Though he’s been relentlessly helping all day, he still appears clean. Knowing him, he freshened up in the bathroom several times. The thought makes me smile.
“Hey back,” I reply, suddenly conscious of my own disheveled appearance. The tailored suit I selected for today lost its crispness hours ago.
“You should get off those feet,” Julian says, nodding toward my discarded shoes near the welcome desk. “They’ve served their sentence.”
“I’m thinking about burning them,” I admit, rotating one ankle with a wince. “Is everyone gone?”
“Almost.” Julian tucks the rag into his back pocket. “Sarah took Meredith and Leo to the break room for some ice cream as a reward. Beatrix is doing a final check on the cat enclosures. Connor’s locking up the back.”